


To Cast A Shadow

by MindfulWrath



Series: The Rise and Fall [2]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Blood, Gen, Gore, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mind Control, Shadow of Israphel, Yoglabs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulWrath/pseuds/MindfulWrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything was business as usual at Yoglabs, until the virus got loose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sand Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> If I have committed any Yogfic faux-pas, please PLEASE let me know.

"Hello, annnnd, welcome back to Yoglabs! Honeydew, how are you? You're looking—looking well."

"Yes? Xephos? Hello! Yes, I'm just fantastic! How—how are you?"

"I'm—fine. Look, why don't you get some coffee, and then I'll show you what we've cooked up today."

Honeydew eyed the coffee machine with grave suspicion. "Yeah, I guess I could do with a coffee."

"Go on, press the button then."

"Last time I pressed the button, I got shot."

"Yes, well, we got that fixed. Go on, have yourself a coffee."

The dwarf's eyes narrowed. "Why are you so keen on me having a coffee? Why don't _you_ have a coffee?"

"I've already had one."

"Right, yeah, no, I don't believe you."

"Oh just press the button already, for God's sake."

 _"Fine,_ I'll press the button." He sidled up to the coffee dispenser and tapped the button, leaping backwards the moment he'd done so. There was a gurgling sound, a clang, and then a fistful of sand spilled out of the dispenser. Honeydew looked up at Xephos, his face the very picture of hurt.

"Um, Xephos. It's given me sand."

"Oh. So it has. Well, never mind the coffee then, come on." He turned and strode for the door.

"Why's it given me sand, Xephos?" Honeydew inquired, jogging to keep up. He had to take three steps to every one of Xephos's.

"I don't know. I'll have one of the testificates take a look at it after we're done. Look, it's nothing to worry about, all right?"

"Yeah, but it gave me _sand."_

"Would you shut up about the coffee machine? God's sake."

"All right, no need to get snippy about it."

Xephos sighed out a breath through his nose, his jaw clenched. Honeydew prodded him in the hip with a chubby finger.

"What're we doing today?"

"Same thing we do everyday, Honeydew."

"Trying to take over the world?"

"What? No. When have we ever—no, we . . . fiddle with _science._ Take over the world. What's _wrong_ with you."

"So you're telling me we're _not_ trying to take over the world?"

"Yes, that's _precisely_ what I'm telling you."

"Then why've we got all those missiles?"

"What miss—"

Xephos turned to his left. Honeydew was pointing at an enormous plate-glass window, through which at least a dozen nuclear warheads could be seen.

"Those missiles? Right there? Those ones?" Honeydew suggested.

"Look, just—don't bother with those, they're only models. Now stop wasting time, I've got lots of things to show you."

Honeydew took one last glance at the missiles before hurrying off after Xephos. It wasn't long before they reached their destination.

"T-A10 virus?" Honeydew read from the sign above the door. "Didn't we see that back when we were doing the, erm, the bacteria stuff?"

"Yes, but that was only a prototype. Here, put this on."

A heavy orange suit thudded into Honeydew's chest.

"Erm, Xephos? Why do I need this?"

"Don't worry about it, I'm sure you'll be fine. Come on, on with it."

Grumbling under his breath, Honeydew tugged the suit on. It was slightly too big (as were most clothes the lab provided him with), and smelled powerfully of bleach.

"How come you don't need one?"

"Because I'm from space, remember? It doesn't affect me."

"Yeah, but I'm a dwarf, how d'you know it'll affect me?"

"I don't, all right? But I'd prefer to be safe. Come on, step in."

Honeydew waddled through the airlock, holding the hazmat suit's trousers up about his waist.

"Xephos," he began, looking around him, "why are all these tanks filled up with sand?"

"Because that's what the T-A10 does, isn't it. Obliterates all life. _Except,_ this time 'round, we've managed to engineer it to only affect plant life."

"Oh. So that's why there's a hamster running about in there?"

"Yes, exactly. It's killed the saplings and turned all the dirt into sand—"

"Um. What saplings?"

"What?" Xephos seemed to really look at the tanks for the first time. "Oh. I . . . suppose those must have turned to sand as well. Hm. Well. Not to worry, I'm sure it's fine."

"Xephos, why have we made this virus?"

"Well, I . . . mostly to see if we could, I imagine."

"Is it part of our plan for world domination?"

"For the last time, Honeydew, we _don't_ have a plan for world domination."

"Mmhm," he hummed, tapping against the glass. "That poor little hamster, he looks so lonely in there. He's gonna starve, if you leave him in there. Here, I'll just—"

"Honeydew, don't—!"

_Crash._

"Awwhh, there you go, little fella. Come on, out you get."

Suddenly there were a pair of hands fisted in the fabric of his hazmat suit, lifting him clean off the ground.

"Honeydew, you idiot!" Xephos cried, blue eyes blazing. _"This place is made of melons!"_

"Oh," Honeydew said, his feet kicking aimlessly. "I probably shouldn't have broken that glass, should I. Hm. Oh dear."

 _"Run,_ you idiot!"

His feet hit the floor, which seemed to give more than it ought to have. The full magnitude of the situation came crashing down on him like—

Well, like several hundred tonnes of sand.

"Oooohh _God!"_ he yelled, scrambling for an exit as fast as his feet would carry him. "Oh God, Xeph! It's all going!"

"Come on, keep running!" Xephos grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him along. The walls seemed to be melting around them, turning tan, bits flaking off and settling to the floor. Somewhere nearby, Honeydew could hear the frantic honking of testificates in a panic.

"Xephos, what about the testificates?"

"Don't worry about them, they'll be—" He broke off as a huge cascade of sand poured down from the ceiling, then suddenly stopped in his tracks. "Oh, my God, the master clones! Honeydew, get to the exit! Get Lalna and get back here as fast as you can!"

"What about you?!"

"I'll be fine, now _go!"_

"But—"

_"Go!"_

Stumbling over the ill-fitting hazmat suit, Honeydew ran for the exit as Yoglabs came cascading down around him. Only moments after he tumbled out the front door, the whole building caved in with an incredible, earth-shaking _boom._

And then there was only the slow hiss of settling sand.

Honeydew pulled his helmet off and wiped the sweat from his brow. He struggled out of the hazmat suit and got shakily to his feet.

"...Xephos?" he whispered.

 _Shh,_ said the sand. _Shhh._

* * *

 

"Holy shit."

Lalna took his goggles off and settled them back on top of his head, pushing the blond fringe back off of his forehead.

"Yeeeaaahh," Honeydew admitted, wincing. "It's ah . . . it's bad, isn't it."

The scientist glanced over at him. "Erm, yeah, you could say that."

"But we can dig it out, right? Diggy diggy hole, all that? I _am_ a dwarf, after all."

"Honeydew," Lanla hedged, and then sighed. "We can't go in there."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean look at it! It's _covered_ in Taint! Where did all that even _come_ from?"

"I don't know. Did you put it in there?"

"Did I— _no_ I didn't put Taint in Yoglabs, why would I do that?"

"Well, you _did_ have a giant Taint-filled orb over your castle. Just, you know, just saying."

"I didn't fill up Yoglabs with Taint. Xephos must have had it somewhere underground." He shook his head. "Christ, _look_ at it all."

"Yeah, it's . . . _bad."_

"It's worse than _bad,_ Honeydew, it's—it's monstrous!"

Honeydew folded his arms and looked at the huge pile of purple-stained sand. "So?"

"So it'll _kill_ us before we get anywhere near it."

"No, we'll be fine! I mean, you got your castle back, didn't you?"

"No, Honeydew, I didn't, I blew it up with a _nuke_ because it was covered in Taint!"

"Oh. But Xephos is in there."

Lalna said nothing. When Honeydew looked over at him, his face was stony, pained.

"Xephos . . . _is_ in there. He went back for the master-clones. Unless—you think maybe he got out?"

"No, Honeydew," he replied softly. "I don't think he got out."

"Then we've got to go in there and get him!"

"He's dead," Lalna declared, his voice low and hard.

"What? No he's not, he's fine. He said he'd be fine, he's—he's _always_ fine! Besides, the clones—"

"Are also dead."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I know Taint, Honeydew. No one could have survived being buried in that much of it. Not for an hour, and definitely not for a day."

"Well, no, but . . . but he _can't_ be. . . ."

Lalna turned and put a heavy hand on Honeydew's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I really am. But there's nothing we can do. We wouldn't make it ten yards."

Words failed him. Something was crushing his chest in a vice, and he seemed to have swallowed a large rock.

"He . . . he _can't_ be gone. He _can't."_

"Oh, Honeydew," Lalna murmured, and pulled him into a tight embrace. His face half-buried in Lanla's lab-coat, Honeydew found himself trembling, his vision blurring with unshed tears.

"He can't be," he whispered, fingers clenching on the crisp fabric of the lab coat. "He can't be."

"Come on, dwarf," Lalna sighed. "Let's get you home."

* * *

 

Days and nights passed. The ruin of Yoglabs was encased in glass to prevent the Taint from spreading. There was a funeral. Honeydew did not attend.

"Ya gotta let it go, man," Sips told him, feet propped up on his desk. "C'mon, move on, pick yourself up, get back on your—your little dwarf-feet, just, you gotta move on. You got a business to run. I mean, I'd buy it off you, but you don't do dirt, so there's nothing there I really want."

The dwarf rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Please leave, Sips."

"Hey, whoah, no need to be rude, jeez, good grief. Fine, I mean, have fun running your little business by yourself, you know. See if I come by to lend my condolences again. Come on, Sjin, we're not wanted here."

He got up and tromped out. Sjin paused and put a hand on Honeydew's shoulder.

"I'm really sorry, Honeydew," he said softly. "If there's anything I can do. . . . Well. He was my friend, too."

_"Sjin! Come on, chop chop, time's money, you know, and you're wastin' it!"_

"I'll see you soon," Sjin promised, and hurried out.

"He's not dead," Honeydew whispered to no one. "He can't be dead."

Lomadia came by with consolations and an offer of help. He turned her away, saying he didn't need help. Xephos would come back. He was certain of it.

At some point later, the Hat trio came by to try and purchase the Yoglabs deed off of him.

He set them on fire.

Slowly, the well-wishers tapered off, and the world settled into a new-normal, a normal-without-Xephos, which, Honeydew considered, was not normal at all, and never would be. He dug deeply, and often, but no matter how many riches he amassed, it all seemed . . . _empty._ He tried sharing his accomplishments with Lalna, with Sjin, with Lomadia or Nano, he even tried contacting Rythian, but they were all busy with their own affairs, and largely uninterested in his mining. Certainly they were uninterested in his cockamamy plans.

It was only a month later that he came home to a house that was suddenly no longer empty.

* * *

 

His pick clattered down onto the floor.

"Xephos?" he quavered, his heart pounding in his chest. "You—you're alive!"

He turned, slowly. His eyes were a bright and vicious amethyst colour, glowing veins of purple laced just under his skin. The look on his face was nothing short of murderous.

"Am I?" he inquired, and his voice was dark. "Because last I checked, Honeydew, I was dead. Last I checked, you _left_ me for dead."

"I . . . oh my God, you're . . . you're _covered_ in it." His brow furrowed. "How'd you get out, anyway?"

"I clawed my way out," he replied. "With my _fingernails._ Because _no one came for me."_

"I wanted to," Honeydew objected. "I did want to! Lalna said we'd die, though, and I didn't want to . . . well, die."

"Ah yes," Xephos mused. "Lalna." He raised his voice and ordered, "I've had a chat with Lalna, you see. In fact, I'll just go get him now."

"What—" Honeydew began, but Xephos was already out the rear door. It opened again in only a moment, and Lalna tumbled in, beaten and bruised, his hands tied behind his back. Xephos followed, shut the door behind him, and stood towering over Lalna.

"Get up," Xephos said softly, staring down at Lalna with unwavering focus.

The scientist glared up at him. His lip was split, his eye blackened, his lab coat torn.

"Why are you _doing_ this?" he demanded, his voice rough.

"I said, get _up,"_ the space-man snarled, and drew a diamond sword from his belt, placing the tip under Lalna's chin.

Honeydew saw the exact moment when Lalna realized that Xephos was going to kill him. He saw confusion give way to fear, and hope fall clattering until its pieces spelled out despair. He watched the scientist get to his feet and raise his head high, holding Xephos's gaze steadily.

"What do you want, Xephos?" he asked quietly, only the barest tremor in his voice.

"What do I _want?_ Revenge."

A long-fingered, purple-stained hand shot out and grabbed Lalna's shoulder, and then suddenly the blue-white blade of the sword was flashing in the dim light and there was a horribly _soft_ sound, followed shortly after by a spattering of liquid.

Lalna looked down at the hilt pressed flush against his stomach, at the blood dribbling over Xephos's hand, and made a small, pained sound low in his throat.

"Oh my _God!"_ Honeydew cried, taking a step forward. "Oh my God, _Xephos!"_

"One step closer and I will kill you," Xephos said softly, not taking his eyes off of Lalna's pale face.

"You _stabbed_ him!" the dwarf cried. He was dreaming. He _had_ to be dreaming, Xephos would never—Xephos would _never—_

"Yes, Honeydew, I stabbed him. I stabbed him, and he is going to die, because all of the master-clones are _dead._ No second chances, no coming back. Maybe, if anyone had come _looking,_ we could have saved them. But not now. It's too late now."

Quietly, Lalna was choking on his own blood. It was dribbling from the corners of his lips. His legs were shaking, as though the only thing holding him upright was the sword through his stomach.

"Stop it," Honeydew whispered. He was shaking all over. "Stop it, you're . . . you're killing him. . . ."

"How does it feel, Lalna?" Xephos asked quietly, eyes half-closed like a pleased cat's. Lalna's only response was to hiccup slightly, spitting out a glob of blood. Xephos's eyes flashed and he yanked upwards on the sword. Lalna screamed.

"I asked you a _question,"_ Xephos hissed, twisting the blade. "How does it fucking _feel?"_

"It hurts!" Lalna gasped. His hands, still bound behind his back, were clutching fruitlessly at empty air.

"Yes," Xephos replied. "Yes, it does." He yanked the sword out, and Lalna dropped to his knees, curling over on himself as blood spilled over his legs and onto the floor.

Honeydew's eyes were fixed on Lalna's crumpled form, watching the quick rise and fall of his breath, watching the blood pool on the floor beneath him.

"Xeph," he murmured hoarsely, "Xeph, he's dying."

"So help him," the space-man responded. The sword was still bloody in his hand. "Go on."

"I—but I haven't got anything to—Xephos, please, _help_ him, for God's sake!"

His head tipped to the side. "If you won't help him, then maybe you'd like to put him out of his misery."

The dwarf's heart skipped a beat. "I . . . I can't. . . ."

Xephos shrugged. "Then I suppose we'll just stand here and watch him bleed to death."

"What's _happened_ to you?" Honeydew wondered. "Has it got into your brain? Xephos, have you got—have you got Taint in your brain?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, Honeydew, I haven't, and it wouldn't matter even if I did." He nudged Lalna with his toe. "He's been Tainted for months now. It's why he never takes off that lab coat."

"I could . . . help you," Lalna choked, looking up at Xephos with teary eyes. "Nano and I have . . . been working on a—a cure."

"Shut up, Lalna," Xephos stated.

"Please. Let me . . . help you. . . ."

The sword swung about until the edge of it rested on the back of Lalna's neck.

"I said, shut up."

"Xephos, stop this," Honeydew begged. "We're—we're your friends, let us help you. Just . . . stop. Please."

Amethyst eyes turned on him, rimmed with ruby red.

"No," Xephos declared. "No, I will not. I am _done_ cleaning up your messes. I am through with it. So I am going to clean up this mess you've made, and then I am going to make certain you never make any more. I am through with this, I am through with you. There is nothing you can say that will change my mind."

"I thought we were, you know, friends?"

"Maybe we were, before," Xephos admitted. "But not anymore."

"It was . . . a mistake," Lalna gasped. "A m-mistake, Xephos."

"I'm not going to tell you to shut up again."

"Please . . . don't do this. . . ."

The blade flashed again. Blood spattered across the floor and wall and ceiling. Lalna's body toppled to the floor. His head rolled away, slack-jawed and glassy-eyed.

Honeydew screamed.

"You _killed_ him! Oh my God, you _killed him!"_

Xephos stood, staring down at Lalna's body.

"Yes," he mused, "yes, I did." He looked up at Honeydew. "And I'm going to kill all the rest, as well. I am going to unmake this world."

"You've gone mad," Honeydew said in hushed tones.

"No," Xephos asserted, readying his sword. "For the first time in seven years, I've finally gone _sane."_

Honeydew tried to run, screaming for help.

He made it six steps before Xephos caught up to him.

* * *

 

"Oh my God, is that Silk-Shirt Guy? Holy shit! I thought you were dead!"

And almost simultaneously:

_"Xephos!"_

Sjin ran towards him, arms open, eyes full of tears, and neatly impaled himself on the spaceman's sword.

Sips's jaw dropped.

"What the fuck? What the fuck, Silk-Shirt Guy, you can't just—come in here and stab Sjin! Only _I_ get to come in here and stab Sjin!"

"That's not my name," he pointed out coolly.

Sjin, having moved past the initial shock of being run through, let out a sort of damp whine and pawed at the hands of his aggressor. Xephos shot him a cursory glance and pulled the sword out of him, leaving him to topple to the ground and cough up vast quantities of blood.

The CEO, meanwhile, had gotten to his feet, eyes bugging out of his grey face.

"Jesus, guy, what the hell are you _doing?"_

The tip of the sword was suddenly under his chin, pricking at the stubbly flesh. Sips backed up until he hit the wall, and Xephos advanced in kind, keeping the point firmly pressed against the other's throat.

"Call me by my name," Xephos insisted, his voice low. "Beg for your life. Beg me to spare you."

On the floor, Sjin gurgled quietly, and went still. Sips's dark eyes flicked to him.

"Holy shit, is he dead? Did you kill him?"

"Say my _name,_ you son of a bitch. I know you know it."

Judging by the sweat beading on his granite forehead, Sips had realized that yes, Sjin was dead, and yes, the man who had killed him was holding a sword against his throat. He gulped, his adam's apple bobbing, and forced something vaguely approximating a smile.

"Hey, okay Silk-Shirt Guy, don't—"

He pressed. A thin line of blood trickled down Sips's throat.

"Okay!" the CEO squeaked. "Okay! All right. Please, just—just don't kill me! Look, whatever you want, I'll give it to you, I've got—big money, _big_ money, all right? So, anything you want, it's—"

"My _name,_ Sips," Xephos growled, the purple veins just under his skin flaring with an angry light.

Sips gulped again. "All right. All right, X-Xephos, okay? Just—just don't do anything—"

"That's not my name," he interrupted.

Sips's eyes went so wide that white showed all the way around. "It's—it's not? I thought—I mean, last time I _checked,_ you were—"

"Xephos," he explained, "is dead."

"Then who—"

He pushed. The sword drove through grey flesh and sent silver blood to spilling. He leaned in close, listening to Sips choke on his own blood and the blade through his trachea.

_"Call me Israphel, bitch."_

 


	2. Preparations

 

_ Three Months Earlier _

 

There was a knock at Xephos's door. Pinching the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to rid himself of his headache, he called, "Come in!"

A tuft of blond hair poked in through the door, followed shortly after by Lalna.

"I thought you were taking the day off," he commented, approaching the desk.

"So did I, but things so rarely go as they're meant to."

Lalna leaned a hip against Xephos's desk and folded his arms.

"Honeydew tells me you've been working late. Later than usual, I mean."

"There's been a lot to do."

"He said you haven't been home in two weeks."

_ "He's _ barely been home in two weeks. He sleeps here half the time."

"But you don't," Lalna pointed out.

"Listen, Lalna, have you come here to babysit me? Because if so, I'm afraid I shall have to push you off of a cliff."

"I didn't say nuffin' about babysitting. Just said you haven't been home in two weeks."

Xephos sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again. "There's—been a lot to do."

"That's why you have testificates, isn't it?"

"It's not testificate work."

Brow furrowing, Lalna asked, "It isn't Lalnable again, is it?"

"No, not that."

"Whew, thank goodness for  _ that, _ anyway." He regarded Xephos out of the corners of his eyes. "So what is it? Top Secret?"

"Yes, that."

"I suppose it's very scientific."

"I'm not telling you. Go home, Lalna."

He pouted. "Well you don't have to be  _ rude _ about it."

With a noise of frustration, Xephos scrubbed at his face. "Sorry, it's just—it's been a bit . . .  _ taxing, _ lately."

"Anything I can help with?"

Xephos hesitated. "Nnno, I don't think so."

"You don't sound very sure."

"I don't want you involved."

"Why? Afraid I'll get it done faster and better than you could? You always do make a mess of things."

"No, I just  _ don't _ want you involved!"

"Has it got to do with the Taint? Because I know I can—"

_ "Lalna!" _ Xephos snapped.

Lalna took a half-step back. Something in the spaceman's voice had been decidedly . . .  _ wrong. _

"Xeph?" he asked softly.

Xephos subsided back into his seat, shaking his head. "I've told you, Lalna, I don't want you involved. So stop—trying to be involved, would you?"

After a moment's pause, he asked, "And Honeydew?"

"I don't want him involved, either." Xephos swallowed heavily. "Especially not him."

Lalna considered him for a long moment.

"How long have you known?" he inquired, perfunctory.

Xephos looked up sharply. "About what?"

He shrugged. "That something was wrong with you."

The other seemed to bite back a sharp reply; he said only, "A few weeks now. Maybe as long as a month, I'm not sure. Maybe . . . maybe I've  _ always _ known, and I just—just didn't  _ want _ to."

"You're sure you don't want my help?"

"Yes. The more involved you are, the easier it will be for me to . . . sabotage you, later. If it all does go wrong."

"D'you really think that'll happen?"

"I hope it won't. But I'd rather be careful. Just in case."

Lalna nodded once. "All right, if you say so. What should I tell Honeydew?"

"Whatever you think he'll believe?"

"Right, marrying a testificate it is."

"You—!"

Lalna laughed, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "What, you think he wouldn't believe that?"

"No, you idiot, he's not  _ stupid." _

"I could make it very convincing. Should I bring you a dress?"

"Get out of here," Xephos scolded, but he was smiling.

"What should I tell him for the date? He'll want an invitation, you know."

"Lalna," he warned.

"All right, all right, I'm going. But we're going to talk about this later."

"Fine, just—would you just  _ leave?" _

Lalna saluted. "Aye aye, captain!" And then he was gone.

Xephos let out a long sigh and slowly subsided until his forehead was resting on the desk.

* * *

 

Shading her eyes, Nano looked out across the vast stretch of sand to the north. Far in the distance, the looming silhouette of Blackrock Hold stood dark and ragged against the sky. She frowned, shifting uneasily.

"He should've been here by now," she muttered to herself.

"He-hello? Hello! Hi, hi there!"

Nano frowned, lowering her hand. Jogging towards her across the expanse of sand, waving with an arm that glinted in the sunlight, was a young redhead followed, as it happened, by a dinosaur.

"Zoey?" Nano inquired.

"Hi! Hi Nano, hi, how're you? Didn't expect to see you here, how are you? Did I ask that already? I think I asked that already. Oh! This is Tee, he's a dinosaur. Show Nano your sniper-rifle, Tee! He's a very good shot."

The dinosaur, teeth bared, gestured vaguely with a long, black rifle.

"Uh, grand," Nano said. "Zoey, ehm, I don't mean to sound rude, but . . . where's Rythian? I was supposed to be meet him here."

"Oh! Yes! He said, um, to tell you that . . . he would be here, if he could, but he can't, because he's been doing very important magical things—probably to, like, turn the sky purple, he likes purple, I bet he'd do that—oh, but, technically I was supposed to tell that to Lalna? But Lalna's not here, and, you are, so, I'm telling you, instead! Yes, so, um, Rythian wanted to be here, but he couldn't, so I get to come and do the—the meeting thing! It's all very exciting."

Nano folded her arms. "Riiiight, okay. Ehm, at any rate, do you have . . . any idea what this meeting is about?"

"Ooh! Ooh! Does it have to do with those tanks with people in? I bet it's got to do with those tanks with people in. Are we growing people? Am I—do I get to start a people-farm? I've never had a people-farm before. I'd love to grow people. D'you think people grow more like mushrooms or—ooh! What if they grow like mooshrooms? I'm good at growing mooshrooms."

Blinking, Nano slowly tilted her head to the side. "No," she hazarded, "no, these aren't people for growing. They're a couple of master-clones from YogLabs. We're moving them to a . . . safer location."

"What location? Because I don't think Rythian would let you keep them at Blackrock. I mean, maybe some of them, and I could  _ maaaaaybe _ hide some in the basement—I'd have to do that for, like, Lalna and Sjin? Yeah, definitely Lalna and Sjin. I guess the rest would be okay. I'm sure it'll be fine. Yeah, yeah! It's fine. We'll have a people-farm in the basement!"

"No, Zoey—not at Blackrock. Somewhere else. I'm not  _ entirely _ certain Blackrock is safe."

Zoey's face lit up—or rather, brightened from 'spotlight' to 'staring straight into the sun.'

"We can build a bunker! Ooh, Nano, would you like to build a bunker with me? Tee, would you like to help? You can help, if you want, or just—just make sure no one comes to beat us up while we build stuff. Would you like that?"

After only a moment's pause, the dinosaur nodded.

"Great!" Zoey cried. "Ooh, where should we put it? We could put it here, in the desert—oh, but sand might fall on them and they might get all sandy, and that would be really uncomfortable, 'cause they'd have sand in their  _ shoes _ , ugh. Ummm . . . I dunno, Nano, where do you think we should build the people-farm?"

Having taken the requisite moment to catch up with Zoey's rapid-fire speech, Nano answered, "Somewhere far away, I think, would be best. Why don't we go on a—on a quest, to find a good place?"

"Ooh! Yes! An adventure! Come on, Tee, we're going on an adventure with Nano!"

And without a moment's hesitation, Zoey headed off northward, chattering happily.

Nano shook her head. "This is going to be a long walk," she commented to herself, and followed after Zoey and the dinosaur.

* * *

 

Lalna awoke with a groan, putting a hand to his head. There was an incredible crick in his neck and the taste of blood in his mouth, and the floor beneath him was cold and rough. He sat up slowly, blinking against the harsh orange light in his face.

"Where's Zoey?"

Shading his eyes, he managed to see a thick pane of glass, and through it, a tall and imposing silhouette.

"Rythian?"

"Rythian. Where's my apprentice, Lalna?"

Lalna got to his feet slowly, his head still spinning from whatever the mage had used to knock him out.

"How should  _ I _ know?" he countered. He was completely walled in, he noticed, with something black and shiny that was most likely obsidian. Classic Rythian.

"Because you  _ took _ her," he hissed, purple eyes flaring out of the darkness of his silhouette.

"No I didn't. Why would I even do that?" He sighed and rapped against the obsidian wall. "Why can't we ever just talk like normal people? 'S always gotta be traps and cages and shit."

"Don't change the subject. Where's. Zoey."

"I told you,  _ I don't know." _

The purple eyes gleamed again, and Rythian stretched out an arm, resting long fingers against a lever.

"I'm not going to ask you again."

"Well, good, 'cause my answer's not going to change. I really don't know where she is, Rythian. Think about it for a second, I mean, really. If I'd taken her, I'd be using this space for, like, bargaining and stuff. But I'm not bargaining. I wouldn't get leverage and then not use it, I'm not stupid."

Despite the casual tone of his voice, his heart was pounding in his chest, as though to remind him of just how much he had to lose. Granted, he'd wake back up at YogLabs in another clone, but . . . well, dying was never pleasant.

Especially not at Rythian's hands.

The glowing purple eyes narrowed. "Why should I believe you? You're a bloodthirsty liar, and you've done more for less."

_ "I'm _ bloodthirsty? That's funny, coming from you. God only knows what you've been doing to Nano."

Rythian's head tilted to the side. "What?"

"She never came back from that meeting with you. What's it been, three weeks? Would've served you right if I  _ had _ kidnapped your apprentice."

"Wait, wait. The meeting—I didn't go to that meeting, I sent. . . ." Rythian sighed heavily and put a hand over his eyes. "Oh, god dammit, Zoey."

Lalna grinned. "Looks like the apprentices went off apprenticing together. You may as well let me out, now."

Rythian looked up. "No," he declared, "no, I'm not going to. I have no doubt you'll break out of there, eventually. I didn't build it to keep you in, just to slow you down. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find my gi—Zoey. And probably Nano, as well."

"What, so you're just going to . . . leave me in this box? Even though I didn't do nuffin' wrong?"

"Mm, yes, that sounds about right. Oh, by the way, breaking any part of that box will set off the explosives. Best of luck, Lalna. See you later."

_ "Rythian," _ Lalna warned, pressing a hand to the glass—but Rythian had already vanished in a swirl of purple sparks. "Ugh. What a jerk. Why can't he just sit down and have a normal conversation like a normal person? 'S always gotta be  _ traps _ and  _ vengeance _ and  _ urgh." _

He sighed and folded his arms, tapping his foot.

"Right. Escape. Pfff, escape, escape, escape. So. What've I got on me? Can't break out, that rules out the hammer and the pickaxe, and, well, most everything else, come to think of it. Let's see. . . ."

Lalna began rifling through his pockets, taking inventory of everything on his person.

"Glowstone dust, no good. Redstone, probably won't do much good. Why have I got all this cobble, where'd that come from? Ummm, grass, no; dirt, no; couple pork-chops, tasty, but no good; portal gun, won't shoot through the glass; destruction catalyst—"

His head tipped to the side as he stared down at the red, teardrop-shaped implement in his hand.

"Hm. I wonder. . . ."

* * *

 

Lalna awoke with a start inside a clone pod, his every nerve still stinging with the force of the explosion.

"Oh," he said mildly, blinking. "Yeah. Well  _ that _ didn't work."

Brushing himself off, he exited the clone pod, straightened his lab-coat, and set off to see about finding Nano.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter; it's for the sake of keeping my writing-momentum going~


	3. Old Habits

Leaving Lalna trapped in the box was, admittedly, immensely satisfying; the ground-shaking explosion that followed less than a minute later was even more so. Rythian briefly considered going back to the smoking crater and pillaging the corpse for useful items, but he was, after all, on a mission here, and didn't have time to waste on scavenging.

"So," he sighed, folding his arms where he floated, several hundred feet above the ground. "If I were Zoey, where would I go?"

Before he'd so much as finished the sentence, he was already sagging under the weight of that question. Zoey was so often scattered, in so many different directions—any given choice could be affected by something as simple as whether or not there happened to be a cow within visual range. It would have helped, he mused, if he'd known what the meeting was supposed to be about. For someone who griped about _dramatics_ as much as Lalna did, he was surprisingly attached to being mysterious. Or perhaps he was just being vague specifically to annoy Rythian—it wouldn't have been the first time.

Still, functioning on the assumption that _whatever it was_ that had taken up Zoey's and Nano's business for the past several weeks— _why on earth had he waited so long she could have been hurt—_ was of the utmost importance, he began to run through the list of places that Zoey most likely considered _safe._ Blackrock, clearly, was not one of them, else she would have returned already.

 _Because she doesn't trust you,_ a quiet and treacherous part of his mind whispered. He ignored it, although he did shift slightly where he floated.

So. _Safe._ The concept was, admittedly, a little foreign to Rythian. He hadn't felt _safe_ since before he and Lalna—

Well. Best not to think about that. There were a lot of things it was best not to think about.

Nonetheless, he attempted, as best he could, to put himself in Zoey's shoes. He flipped through a mental list of localities he knew she had visited, with or without him—he only hoped that wherever she had gone, it wasn't one of those places that sent her home covered in scorch-marks and grinning like a maniac, because she never told him _where,_ exactly, she had gone. . . .

He shook his head. His focus was truly abominable today.

After a few more moments of consideration, he decided that the tiny town of Sick Bay was the most likely candidate; almost no one knew it existed, it was heavily warded by Rythian's own magic, and it was somewhere Zoey would likely feel at home. That decided, he pointed himself towards the desert and glided off, idly chewing the inside of his lip.

* * *

 

_"Zoey."_

She looked up and brushed the hair out of her face, then flashed a sterling grin at him. She was wrist-deep in some sort of machine—probably a generator of some sort, judging by the internal structures.

"Oh! Hello, Rythian! What took you so long?"

"What—what took _me—?"_ he sputtered, alighting on the ground beside her.

"Mm! I left a note and everything, right on the fridge. I figured you were busy, but really, three weeks is sort of a long time. I was about to come looking for you, honestly. Worried you might've got into trouble without me to protect you."

Rythian let out a frustrated growl and ran both hands back through his hair.

"There wasn't a _note,_ Zoey, otherwise I would have been here three weeks ago!"

"There wasn't? Oh. I must've forgot it. But I _meant_ to leave one!"

"I thought you'd been kidnapped, or—or worse!"

She flinched, and the heat of anger flash-froze into the chill of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Zoey, I didn't mean to yell. I—I'm sorry."

"It's . . . fine," she told him, although she looked away. "I'm sorry I made you angry."

"No, no no, Zoey, I'm not angry—well, I am, but not at _you—_ I was just . . . worried. I was really, really worried about you." He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, then thought better of it and rubbed the back of his own neck instead. "I am sorry I yelled."

"'S all right," she mumbled. "I did _mean_ to leave a note."

He sighed, and sat himself down in the sand next to her, cross-legged. "So. What are we doing?"

"Hm? Oh, em, nothing, really. 'S just about finished, actually. 'S all computer stuff—science stuff—you wouldn't like it anyway."

"If you don't want my help, you _can_ just say so."

"No, it's not that, just—we really are almost done now."

He raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Mm. Nano's round here somewhere. She's been helping out a lot. She's good with sciencey stuff. I asked her if she wants to be a technomancer too and she said she'd think about it. Maybe she has to ask Lalna first. Is it all right if she calls herself a technomancer, or is that just for us?"

The side of his mouth was curling itself into a smile. "We'd have to talk about it."

"You and Nano?"

"Me and Nano and you."

She grinned at him again, and he almost melted.

"Ooh, great! Can she be my apprentice, Rythian? Can she? I've always wanted my own apprentice. Well, not always, 'cause I didn't think anybody would want to apprentice in mushrooms—ooh, but maybe somebody would, that would be awesome—"

Rythian rested his forehead on her shoulder and closed his eyes.

"I'm glad you're all right, Zoey," he murmured.

Gently, her hand rested on the back of his head.

"Yeah, me too. I mean, I'm glad _you're_ all right. And I'm all right, I wouldn't like to be not-all-right. I mean, not that I was worried about you or anything, I know you can take care of yourself, and all."

He was grinning under his mask. "Yes, Zoey, thank you." He hesitated. "So what _have_ you been working on out here?"

Zoey shifted slightly. "It's, um, a secret. Like, Top Secret. Top _Top_ Secret."

"Ah," he said. "I won't ask, then."

She rubbed him behind the ear. "Thanks."

"Of course," he replied, and did not add, _it's not as if you're the only one with secrets._

* * *

 

Lalna arrived scarcely three hours later, by which time Rythian had found somewhere to sleep—at Zoey's insistence, he did look _awfully_ tired—and Nano had finally come up from the maze-like underground she and Zoey had constructed. He promptly dragged Nano aside and had a long and apparently quite vehement conversation with her, after which she laughed at him and skipped off back down the tunnels. Helplessly, Lalna looked over at Zoey, who shrugged and grinned at him.

"'S Top Secret," she explained, helpfully.

"Uh- _huh._ Where's Rythian, anyway?"

"Why d'you want to know?"

"'Cause I don't like having my back to him."

"Don't see why. He'd never stab you in the back. He'd stab you in the front so he could see the look on your face."

"That's very reassuring, thanks."

"Welcome!"

Lalna made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "But yeah, where is he?"

"If you want to talk to him, you could just say so."

"Fine, I want to talk to him; where is he?"

"He's sleeping. D'you want me to go and get him?"

"Yeah, that'd be great." And then he added under his breath, "Like hell he's sleeping. Bastard _never_ sleeps anymore."

"Of course he does," Zoey scoffed. "Otherwise, how would he fill his waking-up-screaming quota?"

Lalna looked at her strangely for a moment, before his lips twisted into something like a grim smirk.

"He still does that, does he?"

"Mm. Wait here!"

"Sure, all right."

Zoey hopped to her feet and hurried off into the camp, overly-aware of Lalna's eyes on her back. She supposed it was only natural for a scientist to closely observe everyone and everything around him, but Lalna's particular brand of observation came close to blatant scrutiny. It was, to say the least, rather discomfiting.

Rythian was not, in fact, sleeping; he was _pretending_ to sleep, most likely for Zoey's benefit. The arrangement of his limbs and the sheets on the bed indicated that, not long ago, he had been sitting up reading something.

"Rythian," she called gently, out of respect for, if not his charade, than at least for the effort he'd put into it. "Rythian, wake up."

"Hmn? Zoey?" He sat up, rubbing at his eyes. "Did something happen?"

"Well, sort of. Lalna's here."

Rythian's face went dark, in that way it had when Lalna, Sjin, or anything Ender was mentioned. "Oh," he stated.

"He wants to talk to you."

"I'll bet he does."

"Did you kill him again?"

Some of the hardness went out of his face and he looked away. "Maybe. A little bit."

"You have _got_ to stop doing that."

"Technically I only trapped him, and he just . . . didn't get out of the trap."

"You've got to stop doing _that,_ too. Is a discussion over tea too much to ask for?"

"Yes."

"Knew you'd say that. Fact remains, neither one of you is in a trap at the moment, although I think Nano and I are going to stand between the two of you while you talk."

"I'm not talking to him."

"Well, you can tell him that yourself, 'cause I'm not an errand-girl."

"You came here to—" He broke off, sighing through his nose. "Fine. Give me a minute to get my things together."

"He hasn't got his laser on him and is wearing some kind of enchanted armor. Not the nano-suit thing. I'd recommend ranged weapons and a lot of fire."

Rythian's eyes crinkled with a hidden smile. "Thanks, Zoey."

"Welcome!" she chirped, and headed back to the main camp.

When she got there, Nano was standing, hands on hips, in front of a chagrined-looking Lalna.

"—and you're going to _stay_ there, in that chair, for the whole discussion. Understood?"

"Nano—"

_"Understood?"_

He sighed, hanging his head. "Yeah, I got it."

"Good!" She turned, caught sight of Zoey, and waved. "Allo, Zoey! I assume Rythian's on the way?"

"Mm. I don't think the talking-to I gave him was as stern as yours. Maybe I should try again? I'm not so sure I can be stern. But I could try! Y'know, first time for everything!"

"You don't have to be stern," Rythian said, his voice low. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him approaching like a gangly crow. "Mostly because I'm not a child."

"Hello, Rythian," Nano greeted him politely.

"Nano," he returned.

"Right, so, sit down," Zoey encouraged, gesturing to a nearby chest. "We haven't got any chairs, unfortunately—been kind of busy, with the—the everything."

"Zoey, I think Rythian's the only one here who _doesn't_ know what's going on," Nano mentioned.

"Oh. Right. D'you want to tell him?"

"I think you should, probably."

"Dunno, I'm not very good at, em, explaining, and all."

"There really isn't much to explain, but—"

"We're moving the master-clones from YogLabs," Lalna cut in. "'Cause something's got knocked loose in Xephos's brain and he thinks he's gonna start, I dunno, killin' people."

Rythian's eyes narrowed. "What a disaster _that_ would be," he intoned.

"Look, I didn't kill anyone _permanently,_ and 's not like you've never killed anyone!"

"Boys," Nano warned. "Keep it civil."

Rythian sat back slightly, folding his arms. Lalna fairly pouted.

"Fine," the mage sighed, "so Xephos is endangering everyone." He shrugged. "So why don't you just kill him?"

"Because he's my _friend,_ you bloody great twit!"

"So was Sjin, last I heard."

"Oy, quit it, you two," Nano cut in again.

"Yeah, otherwise Nano and I are just gonna talk, and you two can go home. We've been getting on just fine without you."

"Better than fine, really. Maybe we could ditch 'em and start our own project."

"That could be fun!"

"All right, I _get_ it," Rythian snarled.

"Good!" Zoey praised. She was half-tempted to pat him on the head and give him a biscuit.

Again, there was a moment of terse sighing and uncomfortable shifting.

"Right, okay," Lalna began. "So, basically, it hasn't all gone wrong yet, but it might do. At, basically, any moment. And I figured, y'know, since Blackrock is sort of the farthest place from YogLabs, if Xeph ever _did_ go bonkers, he'd get here last."

"So you wanted me to protect the master-clones?"

"Nnnno, not exactly."

Rythian raised an eyebrow. "Then what?"

"Well, I was sort of hoping Xephos would be so preoccupied with killing you that he wouldn't bother to look for the clones. Y'know. Afterwards."

"You flatter me," Rythian stated flatly.

"That's not very flattering at all," Zoey pointed out.

"Yes, I know, that was the point," he responded, then turned his purple gaze back to Lalna. "And what made you think I would agree to this?"

Lalna shrugged. "Dunno, same thing that makes you agree to most things. Secret nukes under stuff you care about."

"God _dammit,_ Lalna," Rythian snapped, but Nano beat him to the punch, batting Lalna's head with the flat of her hand.

"Ow! What was _that_ for?"

"You were making nukes and you didn't _tell_ me?"

"And putting 'em under people's bases, that too," Zoey put in.

"Yeah, and that, too! Lalna, I swear, you are such a moron sometimes!"

"It's not under his base," Lalna protested.

"Then where?" Nano demanded in return, folding her arms over her chest.

Lalna seemed to shrink slightly. "Erm. It's, ah, it's under the, um, the Crooked Caber."

Rythian was on his feet so fast that Zoey didn't even see him move. She just managed to interpose herself between him and Lalna before Rythian had his sword drawn.

"Put that away," she coerced, although it was beginning to sound more like a plea. His whole body had that rigid, wound-tight look, and purple motes of light had begun to fade in and out of existence around him.

"He would have _murdered Ravs,"_ Rythian growled, and the sound went straight down Zoey's spine like ice-water. He didn't sound like Rythian anymore. He sounded like Something Else.

"I wouldn't have!" Lalna squeaked. Nano was still standing in front of him, but she was now facing Rythian, holding a mining-laser at her side, primed but not aimed.

"What part of putting a _nuke_ underneath someone's _home_ doesn't suggest an intent to murder, to you?" Rythian inquired, his head titling slightly to the side.

"Well I wouldn't have set it off while he was _there,_ would I?" the scientist cried. He started to get to his feet, and Nano kicked him in the shin.

"All right, Rythian," she stated. "Let's go to the Caber—right now, all four of us—and I'll take the nuke down myself. Lalna—" she shot a barbed glance over her shoulder— "will wait _outside."_

"This is always how it goes, isn't it, Lalna," Rythian continued, apparently looking clean through Nano. "Your petty bickering always ends up getting innocent people killed."

"Speaking from first-hand experience?" Lalna jibed.

"Rythian, _don't—!"_ Zoey cried, lunging for him—but it was too late. Rythian had snapped out of existence with a quiet _vwip,_ and there was a sudden choking noise from Lalna. Both Zoey and Nano spun on their heels—Nano pulled the mining-laser up, there was a flash of steel—and everything went very still.

Lalna's eyes flicked back and forth between Rythian, keeping his head pulled back with one hand and pressing a blade to his throat with the other, and Nano, the barrel of her mining-laser resting directly between Rythian's eyes.

"Move an inch," Nano declared calmly, "and you will no longer have a head."

"Funny," Rythian commented, still in that dark, foreign voice, "I was about to say the same thing to Lalna."

 _"All_ right," Zoey decreed, "everybody put everything away and sit down. I'm talking to you, Rythian, and you too, Nano. Right now. Nobody's killing anybody, not while I'm here."

"I wasn't going to kill him," Rythian stated. "I was going to cut out his tongue and _feed_ it to him."

"Ew, gross, that's disgusting. Put the sword away, c'mon. Good grief, can't even have a conversation without everything going pear-shaped, no _wonder_ the old world blew up."

"I had nothing to do with that!" the mage snapped, his gaze flicking up to fix on Zoey.

"Yeah, I don't care, still don't want to watch you get your stupid head blown off. Sword. Down. Now, please."

A flicker of something like pain crossed Rythian's features, and he slowly let go of Lalna, taking a step back. He did not, however, sheathe his sword. Nano likewise stepped back, and adjusted her aim to point at Rythian's chest instead of his head.

"All right, you know what? We're not getting anything done like this. C'mon, Rythian, let's go home. Nano and I'll talk it out later."

"Tuesday lunch sound good?" Nano inquired, her aim and gaze unwavering.

"Mm. Meet here?"

"Will do. See you then."

"Right. C'mon, Rythian!" She stretched out a hand, trying her damnedest to hide the tremor in her limbs.

There was a tense, stretched-thin moment, then Rythian sheathed his sword and stalked over to her.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shoulders slumping, as he took her hand.

"You'd better be," she replied, and took to the air, dragging him along behind her.

 


	4. Warpath

 

_Present Day_

 

"Oy, mate! You seein' this?"

Alsmiffy looked up from where he was draped sideways across an armchair, affixing diamonds to his fingertips. Trottimus had his face pressed close to the window, fogging the glass with his breath.

"Nah mate. What is it?"

"Dunno, 's like purple shit all over the sky."

"Think the scientist's been fucking things up again?"

"Wouldn't put it past him. Where's Ross got off to?"

"Dunno. Maybe he's havin' a wank. What'd you want Ross for?"

"Well, 'cause he might know something about the purple shit in the sky."

Alsmiffy shrugged and turned his eyes back to his diamond fingernails. "Who cares, mate? So long as it ain't trying to rob us, can't say I give a shit. And if anybody comes lookin' for refunds, we can rough 'em up a bit and send 'em on their way, eh?"

"Yeah, but I don't like it. 'S weird. Gives me a bad feeling."

"In your cockles?"

"No not in my fucking cockles, what the fuck is a cockle?"

"You haven't got cockles, mate? Coulda sworn walruses had cockles."

"Nobody knows what the fuck a cockle is, you cheeky bastard."

The door burst open and Trott started, spinning on his heel. Alsmiffy let his head fall back over the arm of the chair.

"Allo, Ross. Is it rainin'?"

"Ya fuckin' think, Smiffy?" Ross retorted. He was soaked to the skin. "D'you fuckin' think it might be raining?"

"Didja see all that purple shit in the sky?" Trottimus asked.

"Bit hard to miss, ain't it."

"D'you know what it's all about?"

"Nah mate, look at him, he don't even know what an umbrella is."

"Oy, shut up, you."

Alsmiffy laughed.

"So d'you know what it is or not?"

Ross leveled a glare at the walrus. "Look, Trott, nobody cares about the purple shit, all right? Drop it."

"Yeah, but it looks bad."

"Maybe you should get your eyes checked, mate," Alsmiffy suggested. "Ross, did you know he hasn't even got cockles?"

"What the fuck is a cockle?"

 _"I told you! I fuckin' told you!"_ Trottimus crowed.

"Shut up, Trott," Ross sighed. "Would one of you twats go get me a towel?"

"Go get it yourself, mate," Alsmiffy suggested.

"Yeah, mate, go get your own towel, how about."

"Too lazy to get his own towel, see what we've got to put up with?"

Trottimus shook his head, clicking his teeth. "Damn shame. _Damn_ shame."

"Oh, sod off, the both of you. Smiffy, what the fuck is on your hands?"

Alsmiffy grinned, holding up a hand with his fingers spread wide apart. "Diamonds, mate."

Laughing, Trottimus sagged back against the wall, pointing at the slime-skinned man. "Oh my God! He's put fuckin' diamonds on his fingers!"

"Why in the fuck have you got diamonds on your hands, Smiff?"

"Look at him! He's _fabulous!"_

"Shut up! Shut up! 'S better than bein' a fuckin' walrus, you ugly bastard!"

"You've got _diamonds_ on your fingers!"

"Alsmiffy," Ross warned.

"'Cause I wanted to, all right? Not like you haven't done nothin' similar."

"You've fuckin' bedazzled yourself, mate!" Trottimus pointed out, still laughing.

Ross had opened his mouth to speak again when there was a knock on the door.

"Ooh, we've got guests, boys," he stated, his mouth pulling into a smile.

"Lovely!" Alsmiffy purred, sliding out of his chair. "We got any shit deeds lyin' around?"

"Couple of 'em," Trottimus answered. "Show ready, of course."

"Great! Let's go rob an idiot, eh mates?" Ross suggested.

The others chorused their agreement, and all three ascended the stairs to the tiny aboveground foyer.

Alsmiffy opened the door and treated the newcomer to his absolute oiliest smile.

"Well well well! We've got a customer, boys. Awful late for customers, good thing we'll make an exception, eh?"

"He's a bigwig, inne?" Trottimus inquired, circling around behind the sopping wet arrival. "What's _he_ doin' here?"

"He's all fluxed up, look at him," Ross pointed out. "We've never had a fluxed one before, have we, boys. Wonder what he's like?"

"Looks a bit manky, I'll be honest," Alsmiffy stated, folding his arms and leaning against the doorway.

"We don't let the fluxies in the building," Trottimus informed the customer. "Have to wait outside if you want anything."

"I'm not here to buy," Xephos said softly.

"Not here to buy, is he? Think he's sellin'? What's he got to sell, now the old lab's collapsed?" Trottimus plucked at Xephos's tattered sleeve.

"Not selling, either."

"Yeah? Then what the fuck're you doin' h—"

The sword went clear through the bottom of Trottimus's jaw and out the top of his head in a spray of blood and grey matter. He dropped like a stone when Xephos yanked the blade out of him.

 _"Jesus Christ!"_ Ross cried.

"Run, run!" Alsmiffy screamed, and promptly did so, turning tail and sprinting off into the dark, drenched forest.

"Wait for me, you cheeky sod!" the other snapped.

He made it a good three steps before Xephos's sword struck through his back like lightning. He fell with a cry, blood spurting from the hole in his chest. The spaceman stepped on him as he continued after Alsmiffy, trailing the smell of sand and burning skin.

"Get away from me!" Alsmiffy cried, dashing through the trees. His face was wet—rain, sweat, tears, perhaps all three—and his breath was already coming short. "Get the fuck away from me, you fuckin' lunatic!"

Xephos said nothing, just continued after him with single-minded determination, glowing faintly. Alsmiffy tripped on a root in the darkness. Xephos was upon him in seconds.

Alsmiffy screamed, just once, a truncated noise that ended in a gurgle and a faint crunch as Xephos's sword pierced his skull.

Xephos didn't even wait for the body to stop twitching. He wiped the blood off his sword, slipped it back into its sheath, and turned his steps southward.

Towards Blackrock.

* * *

 

Lalna tumbled out of the cloning pod and clutched at the ground, as though afraid it would fling him helpless into the Void. His insides were burning with remembered pain, and he still didn't quite feel like his head was on right—breathing didn't seem to be taking any air into his lungs, and there was no blood flowing to his brain. Slowly, however, the world slid into focus, and he managed to pull himself to his feet, albeit with a great deal of support from the nearest wall.

"Fuck," he breathed.

The light above Honeydew's clone went red.

In a moment of panic, Lalna stumbled to the machine and clicked it into Stasis mode—he could barely handle his own shock-horror-panic at the moment, let alone the tempest of conflicted emotions that would come spilling gale-force out of Honeydew. The dwarf was fiery on a _good_ day.

Upon consideration, he walked down the row of cloning pods and set them all to Stasis. _Safer that way,_ he thought to himself, although he wasn't sure for whom.

He tried not to notice how few pods there were down there, how hollow the empty spaces; it made his heart trip over itself and shiver, and he didn't like the feeling, considering how recently he'd been dead.

_And what if I'd never woken up? And God, how many others won't?_

Shaking his head, Lalna made for the stairs—there would be time for despair later, time for fear and panic.

Right now, he had a mage to find.

* * *

 

For the past month, the world had felt distinctly _wrong._ Rythian wasn't quite able to put his finger on it, but it had been steadily working its way under his skin ever since the fall of YogLabs. It was as though the furniture in every room was slightly rearranging itself whenever he wasn't looking; as though the sun was the wrong color; as though the smells of everything had shifted.

So when the pounding came at the front gate, accompanied by a grating yell, he rose to answer it with an apprehensive resignation.

Lalna was drenched—it was pouring down rain outside—and he was without any of his usual accoutrements. He wore no armor and carried only a battered iron sword. The look on his face was nothing short of desperate.

"Rythian! Thank God," he breathed, words spilling out of his mouth. "It's happened, he's done it, he's snapped."

After only a moment's hesitation, Rythian stood aside, motioning for Lalna to enter.

"Where is he now?"

"Still at Honeydew's, I expect, though probably not for much longer. He's sort of, erm, lost it, a bit. I mean, maybe he'd stop with just what he's done already, but he did seem a bit . . . off."

"And he killed you, did he?" He wouldn't have fought down the little twist of a smirk under his mask even if he could have.

Lalna shivered. "Yeah. Eventually. Said a lot of stuff about _revenge._ You'd know all about that, though."

"I think being killed once in a day is plenty, don't you?"

"What, you going to kill me again?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"Not surprised. Where's Zoey?"

"Out," he answered. Something just under his heart was panicking at the thought— _out there, with Xephos, and she planned on moving her clone last, damn her—_ but his voice remained level. "Tee's with her."

"What, so it's just you and me?"

"I really think there are more important things to be discussing at the moment. Whose clones are at Sick Bay, for example."

"Well there's me, obviously; Honeydew and Xephos—"

_"Xephos?"_

"Well, yeah, of course. He was like, the first one we—"

Rythian only barely managed to stop himself from slapping Lalna. "Why in the _hell_ would you bring _Xephos's_ master-clone?"

Lalna pouted. "It's in stasis, they all are. I'm not stupid."

"No, you're just a complete moron. _Why_ did you include _Xephos?"_

"Well, 'cause . . . just _'cause,_ all right? 'Cause, I dunno, maybe the Flux went to his head and we can, y'know, _fix_ him. Or at least try again."

Sighing, Rythian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Who else?"

"Let's see. . . ." He began counting on his fingers. "There's Nano, of course; Lomadia and Nilesy; pretty sure Strippin and Benji are in there. . . . Then we've got Sjin, him too, and . . . I think that's all."

Rythian raised an eyebrow. "Sjin, but not Sips?"

 _And not Zoey, not Zoey, not Zoey, she needs to come home, I need to bring her_ **_home. . . ._ **

"He was next on the list," Lalna said, and shrugged. "Besides, I don't think there's too much chance of Xeph, y'know, going mental on Sips. What with the whole revenge thing and all."

"You clearly don't know much about revenge."

"Can't say it's ever been foremost in my mind, no."

"Right. First priority is to get everyone out of danger. This place is pretty well fortified, so it'll make a good base of operations. We can't let him pick us off one by one."

Lalna nodded. "Okay, I'll get Nano, then anybody else in the area."

"No."

"What?"

Rythian regarded him coolly. "The thing is, Lalna, you're dead. Xephos killed you. Tell me, what do you think he'd think if he saw you walking around again?"

Lalna's face fell. "Oh," he said.

"Stay here, and for Christ's sake, don't _touch_ anything. I'll send Zoey to look after you as soon as I find her."

"You're giving me a babysitter?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing."

"And what if I decide to leave anyway?"

"Then I vaporize Nano's master-clone."

The look on Lalna's face was very nearly worth the sick sense of guilt that was coiling around his stomach. He rather liked Nano.

_"What?"_

"It's no less than what Xephos would do to the rest, if he finds them. Stay inside."

"No, you can't—you can't _do_ that! What's she ever done to you?"

"What's Ravs ever done to you? I didn't see you hesitating to plant a goddamn _nuke_ under his pub for the sake of controlling me."

"Yeah, but I wasn't going to _kill_ him!"

"And I wouldn't kill Nano. Just ensure that when Xephos kills her, she won't be coming back."

"You—Rythian, what— _what the fuck is wrong with you?"_

"Lalna, I don't have time to even _begin_ reciting that list. There's a guest bedroom upstairs, and likely something to eat in the fridge, although it might just be mushrooms. Oh, and I'm setting the wards to point inwards as well as outwards, so I wouldn't try to leave unless you find yourself _wanting_ to become a greasy stain on the floor."

"You really are a bastard, you know that?"

He smiled grimly, lifting himself slowly from the ground. "I try. Seriously, don't touch anything. I'd hate to have you die when I'm not around to watch."

"You're sick."

"And you're trapped. We'll discuss details later." He waved. "Bye, Lalna," he sang, and drifted backwards out the door.

"Bastard," Lalna accused. Rythian laughed and slammed the door.

His mirth evaporated almost instantly as he shot upward into the rain—low clouds would make for good cover, and he was taking no chances. Xephos was not someone he had ever honestly _expected_ to make an enemy of, but it didn't mean he'd never considered the possibility. Xephos was more intelligent and ruthless than he let on—at least, that was the conclusion Rythian had come to—and likely had weaponry so massively destructive that it would make Lalna blush.

In summary, not someone to be trifled with.

Once he was fully concealed by the clouds, he oriented himself westward and sped off into the night, unstruck lightning crackling against his skin.

* * *

 

Lalna held out a good five minutes before he started testing the wards.

The first experiment, of course, was trying the door. He found a long stick propped up against a wall—probably belonging to Zoey, considering the amount of shiny bits and bobs attached to it—and prodded the door with it from a distance. When he was not struck down where he stood, he gave the door a rather more determined shove. It didn't open, and he cursed under his breath, sidling up to the exit with a fair amount of trepidation. He shoved down on the handle and leapt back, but all that happened was that the door swung open slightly. He prodded it the rest of the way open with the stick.

"So far so good," he commented. "Is it too much to hope he forgot to change the wards?"

Perhaps, but it wouldn't stop him from experimenting. He crept forward, the stick still held in front of him, until he was only a foot or so away from the door. Still not having been struck dead, he tossed the stick outside, watching as it landed with a _squish_ in the mud.

"Huh," Lalna said. "Wonder if he's got any pets round here. Should try with something living first."

A brief expedition to the basement yielded up a disturbingly large spider, which he herded into a wooden chest and hauled back upstairs with him. Setting the box down just inside the door, he proceeded to kick it over. The lid spilled open and the spider scurried out, through the door and into the rain, where it promptly vanished in the darkness. Lalna listened closely for any sound of horrible demise, but heard only the rain.

"Fuck it," he decided, and stepped out the door.

Rain pattered down on his head, and he nearly jumped clean out of his skin when lightning flashed nearby. Still, three deep breaths later and he was still standing, and he headed off into the rainy night with a smile tugging at his lips.

Which was when the iron sword in his hand began to grow uncomfortably hot.

It started slowly, but it wasn't long before he noticed something amiss. The iron continued to heat up until he was forced to drop it—rain hissed off the blade as it began to glow red with heat.

Pinpricks of fire bloomed against Lalna's skin—the chain mail vest he was wearing beneath his lab coat, the steel toes of his boots, the iron bands of his rings—and he yanked desperately at the swiftly warming accoutrements, trying to pull them from his body even as they burned against him. The skin of his fingers began to sizzle with the heat of the rings—damn them, why wouldn't they come _off?_ —and he yelped, tears pricking at his eyes, and then screamed as the chain mail began eating its red-hot way into his skin. He tripped over his burning feet and landed hard in the mud, thrashing fruitlessly against the metal cooking him alive.

There was a heavy _thud,_ and a huge iron golem loomed up out of the rain, runes glowing a dim ember red along its skin. Lalna tried desperately to get to his feet, to run for his life, but the agony of the metal burning into his skin had robbed him of all coordination.

_Crunch._

He screamed as a massive iron foot flattened his left leg, splintering bone and crushing muscle. Another golem loomed up to his right, another foot crunched down on his right arm. Lalna screamed and screamed and screamed, until the mud filled up his mouth and was sucked down into his lungs, while his skin burned and boiled and the golems crushed his body under their ponderous weight.

By the time he finally drowned in the mud, he was grateful for death.

* * *

 

Lalna tumbled out of the cloning pod and vomited on the floor almost immediately. He was shaking all over, tears streaming from his eyes, skin sheened with sweat, his breath coming short and panicked.

Dying, he reflected, was never _pleasant._

But _especially_ not at Rythian's hands.

 


	5. Monsters

He looked weirdly _dragonish_ as he descended from the low and raining clouds, air currents swirling grey wings into the air behind him. He alighted on the ground next to her almost soundlessly. He was wearing his darkness, wound tight around him until she almost couldn't see him through it.

"Rythian?" she asked, and there was more fear in her voice than she'd intended.

"It's happened," he said. "Xephos isn't dead and he's out for blood. We're gathering everyone at Blackrock to make a stand."

"We?"

The darkness coiled tighter, although she could see his eyes crinkling with a wicked smile. "Lalna and I," he explained. "He's a little indisposed at the moment."

"Did you trap him again?"

"Yes," the mage answered smugly, "although from the power drain I just felt, it's likely he just killed himself on my wards."

"Stop it," Zoey snapped, getting to her feet. Her fists were clenched painfully at her sides. "Rythian, stop it right now. You're scaring me."

His head tilted slightly to the side. His eyes were burning a cold violet, so bright they were nearly featureless. "Am I? Why?"

"You're not acting like yourself," she told him—although that wasn't entirely true, he was acting like _one of_ his selves, it just wasn't the one she liked.

"I don't think that's particularly important at the moment. Would you mind gathering up everyone in the vicinity? I'm heading north to collect anyone Xephos might not have slaughtered yet."

Zoey shivered. The rain seemed to have gotten much colder in the past minute.

"I'm kind of in the middle of something."

He raised an eyebrow and folded his arms. "Oh?"

 _Run,_ her hindbrain whispered. _This isn't Rythian at all,_ **_run._ **

"Mm."

"Science?"

"Yeah."

"What kind?"

She shifted uncomfortably and looked away. "Um . . . forcefields. Trying to find a way to keep the Flux out. Y'know. 'Cause it does spread."

"It does. But the thing is, Zoey, Xephos is on his way. Right now, even as we speak. He murdered Lalna and Honeydew. There isn't a higher priority than getting everyone out of the line of fire."

"R-right, right! I'll, um, start rounding people up, then. And you're going to. . . ?"

"Like I said. Head northward and— _aaagh!"_

He dropped like a stone, landing on his knees in the mud and clutching at the side of his head.

"Rythian?" Zoey knelt down next to him, reaching out for his shoulders. "What's happened? What's wrong?"

"Don't touch me!" he gasped. He was trembling violently, the light of his eyes flickering like candle flames in the wind, his breath shallow and ragged.

And then, just as suddenly, whatever it was had passed, and he was left kneeling in the rain, panting like he'd run a marathon.

"Rythian?" she hazarded.

"The wards," he answered, breathless. "We can't go back to Blackrock, he just broke through the wards, _Christ. . . ."_

"Right, okay, are—are you okay?"

Rythian looked up at her. There were dark circles under his eyes, but the darkness had uncoiled itself from around him.

"I'm all right," he confirmed. "I'll need to recharge my klein star soon, but otherwise, fine." He sighed through his nose and picked himself up. "Christ. We have to get everyone together as soon as possible. Whatever he has, it's ridiculously powerful."

"Mm. I'll get Nano, Ravs, and the rail boys. You go for Lomadia and Nilesy?"

He shook his head. "No. No splitting up. That's how people get killed."

"Right. Let's get going." She didn't comment on his change of heart.

It was entirely likely no heart at all had been involved prior.

* * *

 

The universe had exceptional dramatic timing, as evidenced by the flash of lightning that illuminated the ragged towers of Blackrock Hold, and the whip-crack of thunder that followed almost immediately afterwards.

The corner of Xephos's mouth twitched upward in a smirk. The Flux was buzzing under his skin, setting his blood afire and lighting up corners of his mind long left to darkness. His sword, gorged on blood, was warm in his hand. His fingernails ached.

_Sand, so goddamn much sand, pouring down around him—damn Honeydew straight to hell, the bloody idiot—but there were more important things, there were lives at stake. . . ._

Xephos shook his head. The rain was achingly cold against his skin, painful in a way it had no right to be.

 _The whole place was coming down around him, huge chunks of architecture collapsing, sand everywhere around him, he was never going to make it out alive, he was going to_ **_die_ ** _there. . . ._

Lip curling, he started moving again, heading for the looming bulk of the Hold. He could smell blood in the air, and burned flesh and hair, and the sharp scent of magic stretched too tight.

_There was a steel tank, real steel, an empty cloning pod turned on its side, and he threw himself into it as the last of the sand came down around him, as the world went dark and hot and stifling, and oh, God no, how much air did he have left. . . ?_

He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to hold back the memories, but when he saw the corpse, trampled into a formless bloody pulp in the mud, when the stench of blood became overpowering, he could resist their pull no longer, and fell into his own head as though it were a black hole.

* * *

 

_He pulled out a bit of glowstone, just a fragment he'd been carrying for the purpose of experimentation—enough to light up his tiny prison, though. The sand was shifting all around him, groaning, pressing hard on the top of the steel box. It had spilled in somewhat through the open front, but appeared to have enough cohesion that it wasn't going to flood in and crush him any time soon._

_"Shit," he breathed. He could already feel the air growing thicker as he used up what little oxygen he had left._

_"I'm going to die here," he whimpered. "This is it. I'm done. I'm dead. I'm going to die."_

_His head thunked back against the steel box. He had nothing, nothing whatsoever, that would get him out of this. Even if anyone came looking for him, they'd be far too late anyway._

_"No, no no, don't think like that, Xeph," he admonished. "Come on. Think. There's got to be a way. Don't let the claustrophobia get to you—you're not even claustrophobic! Probably plenty of air in here, and it's not as though I need to stretch out. Come on, you're brilliant, figure something out."_

_Xephos began examining the box, and, when that yielded nothing useful, the sand._

_Which was taking on a peculiar purplish tint._

_"Oh," he commented, "shit."_

_There really was not much air left. He was beginning to feel as though someone had stuffed every hole in his head with damp cotton—including his eyes—and was continuing to stuff in more every second. He continued to curse under his breath while he emptied his pockets._

_"Right, so. Redstone, fasteners, couple Jaffa cakes—that's a hell of a last meal—flint and steel, bit of rubber, some copper wire . . . annnd, nothing. Shit. Damn. What the fuck good does all_ **_that_ ** _do me?"_

_Which rhetorical question his brain promptly decided to answer for him._

_"Can't make a proper rebreather with this shit, haven't got any CO2 scrubbers. Well, s'pose I could_ **_make_ ** _some, but . . . ah, hell with it. Better than suffocating."_

_In the half light, which was steadily growing purpler, he set to work, fumbling with the components while sweat beaded on his fingers and the cotton stuffed its way further and further into his head, until it was cramming down into his lungs and he could barely see straight._

_But finally, just as his vision was going black around the edges, he slipped the rebreather into his mouth and sucked in his first real breath in nearly ten minutes. Relief flooded through him and he sagged against the back of the steel box, reveling in the simple feeling of being able to_ **_breathe_ ** _again._

_Which, of course, was when the first tendril of Flux wrapped around his arm._

_To look at Nano and Lalna, one wouldn't have thought the Flux was particularly painful; to the contrary, neither of them had mentioned so much as mild discomfort in all the research Xephos had done on them. As such, the jellyfish-sting of the purple tendril made Xephos jerk in surprise and slam his head against the back of the steel box. A metallic ringing filled his ears and sparks danced across his vision while more and more of the purple filaments wrapped around his limbs. He screamed through his teeth, the rebreather still clenched between them, thrashing uselessly in the tiny space._

_The Flux kept coming, relentless, eager to wrap up and devour this small spark of light it had found. The pain was overwhelming, like being burned alive, and no amount of struggling could free him. He began to claw at the sand, trying to push his way out, but it only exposed him to more of the searching tendrils, only flooded his small haven with sand._

_After that, there was nothing to do but dig._

_No one was coming for him._

_This was all Honeydew's fault. That idiot just_ **_had_ ** _to break the glass, didn't he?_

_And none of this damn Flux would be eating him alive if Lalna hadn't meddled with the stuff in the first place, if Nano hadn't gotten herself covered in it._

_God damn Sjin and his arms-race. God damn Sips and his carelessness. Damn everyone, every godforsaken one of them, this was_ **_their_ ** _fault, this was_ **_their_ ** _mess and they'd left_ **_him_ ** _to die in it. This whole damn world had abandoned him, left him to die, to suffer, and why?_

 _Because he'd had the common decency to try to_ **_save_ ** _them?_

_As his fingernails peeled back, as the skin chafed from his hands, as the sand enveloped him, as the Flux ate him from the inside, he decided it was a favor he could do without._

_But it was one he would be_ **_delighted_ ** _to repay. . . ._

* * *

 

Slowly, the world filtered back in around Xephos—the rain falling cold on his head and shoulders, the pulped body at his feet, the crackle of taut magic in the air like lightning waiting to strike. He took a deep breath and smelled blood, burned hair and flesh.

Behind him, something went _thud._

He spun on his heel, loosing a fireball from his palm with scarcely more than a thought. It caught the iron golem full in the chest, exploding in a firework of sparks. There was another _thud_ and Xephos leapt to the side just as the second golem swung a huge arm at his head. Another fireball fizzed through the air and slammed into the second golem's face. The first had recovered by then, and it was only by inches that Xephos dodged its massive fist. He leapt onto its arm and clambered up to its shoulders.

The second golem, its face scarred and blackened by fire, lurched towards him. He plunged his sword into the top of the first golem's head with a grating metallic _shriek_ and leapt away just before the second's fist impacted like a meteor.

The first golem keeled over backwards, glowing runes gone dark. Its shoulder clipped Xephos's as it fell and knocked him off his feet.

He barely had time to gather his wits before the remaining golem was looming over him out of the rain, a ponderous iron foot descending towards his head. Rolling out of the way, he delivered a passing swipe of his sword to the golem's leg. The shriek of diamond on metal made him want to grind his teeth down to the roots.

Before the iron monstrosity could turn, he'd plunged his sword into its back four times, striking until the lights under its skin went out and it toppled forward, landing with a heavy _thud_ next to its fallen compatriot.

Xephos wiped the rain and mud from his face.

"And fuck you too," he grumbled, then turned his eyes to Blackrock Hold. The air around the black walls was humming with restrained power.

"Right," Xephos muttered to himself, stepping up to the edge of the wards. "Let's see how you like having the power-structure inverted, shall we?"

He reached a hand forward, sunk his fingers into the fabric of the wards, and started pulling strings.

* * *

 

The look of _relief_ on Lalna's face was uncommon, to say the least.

Nano folded her arms and looked him over critically. "You look like hell," she commented.

"Yeah," he agreed, and then, to her surprise, embraced her. He was shaking.

"Whoah, hey, what? What's this about, then?"

Lalna only shook his head. "I've died twice today, cut me some slack, yeah?"

"Twice?"

"Experiments have confirmed that Rythian is still a complete bastard."

"Ah. And why were you talking to Rythian without me? We've talked about this."

"Xephos was killing people. It was urgent."

"Do you plan to stop hugging me any time in the near future?"

Lalna let go of her and took a step back. He gave a nervous little cough and looked at the far corner of the room. There was a distinct flush to his cheeks.

"Sorry. I s'pose he and Zoey are back now?"

"Not just yet. They dropped by to tell me the news."

"So why're you here and not, y'know, at Blackrock?"

"Why're you?"

"'Cause I _died,_ obviously."

"Oh, _obviously._ Excuse _me."_ She rolled her eyes. "Apparently Xephos royally screwed over the wards at Blackrock and it's not safe anymore. You must be getting rusty, if Xephos can out-magic you."

"Not fair," Lalna objected. "I wasn't _trying_ to break the wards. I was just . . . sort of hoping he'd forgot to set 'em."

"Rythian doesn't forget things, you dope."

"See, you say that, but—"

"Nah-ah! I've told you. Don't want to hear about it."

Lalna deflated slightly. "So what're we s'posed to do now?"

"Zoey mentioned forcefields," Nano suggested. "Seems like a good plan to me."

"Good as any," he sighed. "Any idea what we've got on hand?"

"No clue. But I'm always up for a good rummage."

"Yeah, same."

She considered him for a moment. "Lalna, you're sure you're all right?"

"Huh? Me? Yeah, fine. Why?"

"No reason," she answered. For a moment, neither of them moved, and the weight of things unsaid warped the space between them.

"Right, forcefields," Lalna said eventually, perhaps a bit too loudly.

"Yeah, them," Nano agreed, and turned her attention towards the task at hand.

 


	6. Crisis Mode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I just realized I never credited Entomancy for the whole "Rythian-stuck-his-arm-in-an-End-portal-like-a-jackass" idea. Seriously, their fics are so good I forget that stuff in them isn't canon. Have you read their stuff? Go do it. Read it again if you've read it before. Leave comments. Bow down.

"So!" Nilesy declared, setting his elbows on the bar. "What's the plan?"

Zoey shrugged. "We all get together, right, with all our weapons and armor and everything, and we go over to Blackrock and beat 'im up. Or, y'know."

 _Kill him,_ no one said, although the words were nonetheless heavy in the air.

"Rrrright," Nilesy said, leaning back slightly. His smile had gone decidedly nervous. "Can I be, maybe, excluded from the fighting? Unless it involves pools, I think I might be, slightly, useless."

"It's probably best you stay here," Lomadia assured him. "The rest of us will handle this."

"Benji's not going either," Strippin declared from the far end of the room.

"I'm not?"

"You're not."

"Excluding me, as well," Ravs put in. "I'm not going out there for love nor money. Not without a backup."

The room went quiet. Nilesy looked down at his hands. Lomadia took her hat off and rubbed the back of her head. Lalna and Nano were suddenly very absorbed in their latest tangle of circuitry. Strippin and Benji, nursing a couple of drinks at a table together, sat still with studiously averted eyes.

"That's fine," Zoey assured him. "We do need people to, like, hold down the fort, after all! And as soon as we're not in imminent danger of dying, we can definitely make more clone-thingies. Absolutely, definitely-certainly. Pretty sure I could make one on my own, and with Nano and Lalna here, it'll be a cinch!"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah," said Lalna, looking up. "'S not that hard, if you've got all the materials and stuff. Sort of hard to get, what with the . . . y'know. But afterwards, yeah. Really all we'd need besides what we've got already is—"

Nano clamped a hand over the top of Lalna's head and forcibly turned his attention back to the circuitry. "Focus, please," she warned.

"So what's our plan of attack?" Lomadia asked, pulling her hat back on. When no one answered, she continued, "Erm, Rythian?"

He looked up, as though startled anyone knew he was there. He'd certainly been unobtrusive enough, sitting in a dark corner with his feet propped up on an adjacent chair, his eyes glowing like violet embers."What?"

"Got any plans as to how we're going to take down Xephos?"

The lighted eyes narrowed. "Since when was that _my_ job?"

"It wasn't," Lomadia admitted, giving him a bemused look. "Just wondered if you had any input."

"I don't," he snapped. "Why don't you ask Lalna?"

"Oh, sod off, Rythian, ya bastard," Lalna retorted, glaring at the mage over his shoulder. "Go brood somewhere else, if you're not going to be useful."

 _"Focus,"_ Nano reprimanded, smacking the side of his head.

"All right, okay, can we all just, maybe, stop?" Zoey asked, eyes darting between the dark countenances. There was a soft _vwip,_ and all that remained of Rythian was a dispersing cloud of violet motes.

"Who's pissed in _his_ cheerios?" Benji grumbled.

"Oy, what've I told you about pickin' fights?" Strippin retorted.

"I'm not pickin' fights, I just want to know who pissed in his cheerios!"

"Swear to _God,"_ the other griped, and sipped at his beer.

"His cheerios are in a constant state of pissed," Ravs put in. "And not pissed drunk, either, 'cause I've seen him pissed drunk, and he doesn't change much."

"Right, okay, that's enough," Zoey quavered. Her hands were shaking. There wasn't enough air in the room.

"That's hardly fair," Nilesy was objecting, talking over her. "He's fairly pleasant, when you get to know him."

"He's really, _really_ not," Lalna declared.

She was going to start crying. She could feel it welling up in her like a geyser. Bottom lip pinched firmly between her teeth, Zoey walked out, hoping no one would see her go. The imagined heat of their gazes burned against her back.

Out in the crisp, hospital-white corridor, Zoey pressed her back against the wall and sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands. Curling up as small as she could go still didn't seem to fill up the emptiness in her.

"Oy," came a soft voice. "You all right?"

"Leave me alone, Lom," she said, her voice thick with restrained tears.

"If you want, okay. I'd rather be out here than in there, though. Mind if I sit? Won't talk if you don't want me to."

Zoey sniffled. "Yeah, all right." There was a quiet rustling of fabric and a slight warmth by her side.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, no worries."

For a time, there was a companionable hush, while Zoey remembered how to stop crying and Lomadia sat quietly by her side.

Eventually, with a sniff, Zoey raised her head and propped her chin on her knee.

"When did it all get so bad?" she wondered.

"Not sure," Lomadia said. "But it did happen awfully fast." She paused. "Would it help if I said it'll get better soon?"

"Sort of." Zoey sighed and hid her face in her knees. "Just . . . are we really all that's left?"

"Well, there's Sjin, too, and Honeydew. Tee's around, isn't he? And, I suppose, Xephos, but . . . I think most of us don't think he should ever get woken up."

"Yeah, think I'd have to agree on that one."

"Point is, there'll be time to grieve when we're not in immediate danger. I think, probably, most of 'em haven't really let it sunk in that the others are . . . gone. That's why they're sitting in there bickering instead of, well, sitting out here, crying. I know I've been trying not to think about it. Letting myself think that, once this is all over, we'll bring everyone back. And I guess when that doesn't happen—" She broke off, turning away and clearing her throat. "It'll be bad, yeah. And I'll have to deal with it. But right now, I've _got_ to focus on keeping everyone else here alive. 'Cause . . . yeah. We're really all that's left."

"I really hope you weren't trying to be comforting, 'cause it really didn't work."

Lomadia sighed. "Nah," she admitted, "I guess I wasn't."

* * *

 

Rythian didn't return to the compound beneath Sick Bay until well after night fall—he had been out wandering the desert, waiting for the boiling dark in his mind to subside. It wasn't a good time for him to be around Lalna, when the darkness got restless.

Honestly, it wasn't a good time for him to be around anyone.

He'd found a small pool of clear water and sat in it for a few hours, until it stopped burning against his skin and he started to feel human again. The desert sun had dried him out again fairly swiftly, but he'd stayed out sorting grains of sand until night came and the air grew cool, until life emerged from the sands and began to go about its business; until, in fact, a scorpion had crawled onto his hand and scared the living _hell_ out of him.

He had trudged back to the compound and dumped the sand out of his shoes, then headed to the makeshift kitchen and chugged three full bottles of water, warm, from the pantry. Afterwards he stood, palms flat on the counter, staring at his own fingers. He was exhausted, but felt like someone had wound up the key in his back three notches too tight.

Not the least because, as things stood, everyone was going to die within the week.

It wasn't something he wanted to believe, but he'd forced himself to look critically at the situation, and it was the conclusion he had come to over and over again. Xephos was steadily building power at Blackrock and would inevitably find the computers underneath—which would tell him the precise location of everyone in the world. Meanwhile, no one had a plan and half of the survivors were worse than useless in a fight. They were all unaccustomed to working with each other, and long-standing fault lines would crack their fragile alliances apart at the slightest pressure.

For example, there was not a single doubt in Rythian's mind that Lalna would stab him in the back at his very first opportunity.

A sound to his right made him jump, and he spun on his heel, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword.

"Allo, Rythian," Nano greeted him, sounding befuddled. "All right there?"

Some of the tension went out of his shoulders, and he took his hand off his blade.

"Hello, Nano. I'm . . . fine. What are you doing up?"

"Could ask the same of you," she pointed out. "Could also ask where you've been all day, but I won't."

"I just got back," he explained. "I was . . . thinking."

"Hm, dangerous stuff. Personally, I just can't sleep. It's the Flux, y'know. Gets all sort of buzzy."

"Ah," he remarked.

Nano crossed to the refrigerator and spent almost thirty seconds rifling through its contents before she emerged with a bowl of mushroom stew. She leaned a hip against the nearest counter and began sipping at the cold broth.

"I actually kind of like the stuff," she commented. "Don't tell Zoey, otherwise she'll give me more than I can ever possibly eat."

Rythian shook his head with a quiet laugh. "Yeah, that's probably true. I'm pretty sure there are some back at Blackrock that have grown civilizations."

Nano snorted. "Have you asked them to enlist?"

He fell silent. He had done more thinking than he should probably let on.

He had also come to a decision.

"Is the transmutation tablet still in here?" he asked eventually. "I should charge my klein star, while I'm thinking about it."

"Yeah, it's in that cabinet over there, don't ask why. Strippin did most of the building in here, and you know how he is with architecture."

"Mm," Rythian agreed. He crossed to the cabinet and, upon opening it, found the tablet sitting amongst a small herd of mugs. He pulled the klein star from around his neck—acutely aware of the loss of its power—and placed it on the white tablet. The power-structure of the room changed slightly, and the star began to glow. He closed the cabinet and returned to his spot at the counter.

"You're not planning on doing anything stupid, are you?" Nano questioned pointedly. Her eyes were narrowed, gleaming with a dark sort of suspicion.

"I don't think so, no," he lied.

"You're not planning anything, or you don't think what you're planning is stupid?"

He folded his arms and sighed out a laugh, shaking his head. "You . . . you remind me a lot of her. Zoey, I mean."

Nano raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Looking up sharply, he hastened to add, "Not, like, in a weird way. It's not weird. Don't make it weird."

"No one was making it weird."

"Good, because, it isn't."

"Uh-huh."

"But. You do remind me of Zoey. It's just that you notice things that no one else does."

"Just that?"

"I'm not sure what you're implying."

"Well, mostly that Lalna's hopelessly in love with me, and I'm his apprentice, and Zoey is, for lack of a better word, your apprentice, and I wonder if that might have something to do with the similarity."

"What? No, I—that's not—"

Nano waved a hand, shaking her head. "Doesn't matter. I was just wondering. Carry on."

He took a few moment to fight down the monstrous flush that was rising to his cheeks. By the time he managed it, the silence had stretched too long to properly pick up the previous conversation.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did, but I'll give you another question out of the kindness of my heart."

He chewed the inside of his lip, piecing the phrasing together just so.

"If Lalna were to do something incredibly stupid, that got him killed—permanently—would you . . . what would you do?"

She considered him for a long moment, then considered the far corner of the room for a much longer moment.

"Grieve, I suppose," she answered at last. "Try to get him back. Take vengeance on whatever it was killed him."

"But do you . . . do you think you would ever . . . recover?"

Another silence, and then her brow furrowed.

"I don't know," she answered. "I honestly don't know."

Rythian sighed. "Right. Thanks. I'm going to, you know, try to get some sleep." He crossed to the cabinet and removed the klein star, which was thankfully at full charge.

"Rythian," Nano said, and there was an odd tenderness in her voice, "tell her."

He turned, frowning. "Tell who what?"

She gave him a critical look. He sighed, deflating slightly.

"I'm . . . pretty sure she already knows."

"Tell her anyway."

He looked over at her. Her eyes were bright with tears.

"I—I will," he promised, taken aback.

He was even more taken aback when Nano crossed the few feet between them and embraced him, squeezing tightly, burying her face in his chest. After a stunned moment, he wrapped his arms around her, barely touching, just enough contact to acknowledge the gesture.

There was a timeless moment, uncounted, before she let go and stepped back.

"I'll . . . see you later," she muttered, her voice hoarse.

"Yeah," he replied. "See you, Nano."

He walked away before she could see the tears in his eyes.

* * *

 

It was the purple-gray hour just before dawn when Rythian set out, heading into the cold, still air while the stars slowly faded from the sky. The red-matter armor was heavy on his shoulders, and the pull of gravity was unaccustomed after so long spent drifting on the currents of his magic. He couldn't afford to waste energy on such frivolous things as transportation.

His breath fogged the air as he walked, like steam chugging from a locomotive, rolling railroad-straight towards its destination. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he walked to keep his chilly fingers from going numb. His heartbeat, usually ticking below the lip of his consciousness, now thudded powerfully in his chest and thrummed in his veins.

In his mind, he was filing away and locking up everything he could find, packing up for a long journey, or at least a departure.

_Before anything else happens. I just . . . I wanted to tell you. Because I might not get the chance. Later._

The taste of her lips. The strength of her fingers, twined with his. The scent of her hair.

_Because, it's just that, it might all fall apart at any moment, and I don't want to . . . not say it._

The quiet laugh, the warmth of her embrace, the murmured half-serious admonitions.

_It's just. . . . Zoey, I . . . I love you._

_Is that all? Well, I love_ **_you,_ ** _you big silly. You had me worried, for a minute there. Always so_ **_dramatic._ **

And he had laughed, and they had kissed, and he had held her through the night.

Each moment, each word and touch, each silent tear shed secretly into the pillow, he packed away and locked up, so tightly that he would never be able to retrieve them.

When that was done, when there was nothing left but a tin-can emptiness inside him, Rythian found himself standing on a grassy rise looking down on Blackrock Hold.

In the quiet dark in the back of his mind, something stirred. Finding nothing in its way, it flooded out until it had filled him entirely.

And he stepped forward, his eyes burning with a cold violence, his darkness wrapped stranglehold-tight around its willing vessel.

It was only moments before Xephos emerged to meet Rythian, the chaos of his aura swirling dizzyingly around him.

"I was wondering when you'd turn up," he mentioned casually, alighting on the crumbled tip of the highest tower. Rythian rose to his level and hung suspended in the air thirty yards from him.

"I don't suppose you'd consider settling this peacefully?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow. "I could be a powerful ally."

Xephos grinned. "No," he answered. "You're a part of this world, and you'll die with it."

Rythian's lips twisted into something like a smile under his mask. He drew his katar.

"You have no idea how much that means to me," he said, and in the blink of an eye was six inches behind Xephos and striking for his heart.

Xephos threw an elbow back and caught Rythian in the chest, knocking the two of them apart just enough to cause the killing stroke to glance off of Xephos's armor. He spun on a dime and drew his own sword—a ragged diamond blade gleaming cruel and thirsty with the tint of blood.

Rythian was after him again in an instant, throwing himself at the spaceman full-speed, then flitting to the side at the last moment with an explosion of purple sparks. The bloodthirsty blade speared through the exact space where he would have been, and he swung his own weapon at Xephos's shoulder, scoring a solid blow that bit clean through the steel armor. He pushed his advantage, striking again, but his stroke was blocked and Xephos threw him to the side with his own momentum. He felt the other's blade snap hard at his back. He was spared from evisceration only by the strength of his armor.

"You do understand how pointless this is?" Xephos said. He wasn't even breathing heavily. "As soon as I'm done with you, I'm going to pop over to Sick Bay and kill the rest—"

He broke off when he had to duck under a scything blade that would have taken his head clean off.

"Shut up and die," Rythian growled.

Xephos's blade flashed out like a stroke of lightning, biting at the seam in Rythian's armor that rested just under his shoulder. It nipped into his skin, only slightly, before Rythian had skipped sideways through reality to a safer distance.

His foe was already coming for him, so Rythian hurled a fireball the size of his chest at him, followed swiftly by six more. Before the flames had even cleared, a barrage of lightning bolts was spearing down through Xephos's burning body, hammering him to the ground and then down into it, setting the grass alight and cooking the dirt into stone. He kept the vicious assault going until it sucked a breath of energy from his lifestone. He dropped two dozen feet before the flight ring caught, and he hung in the air, breathing heavily, sweat sheening his skin.

From the black, smoldering crater, Xephos slowly stood. The Flux had eaten cracks through his flesh, and his eyes had gone ruby-red. The fire was still chafing skin and hair and ashen scraps of clothes from his body.

He grinned.

"You have no idea what you're dealing with, do you," he purred.

A sharp retort died on Rythian's tongue when something slammed into his back and flung him across the courtyard, where he slammed into a tree and cracked it clean in half. He couldn't breathe. His head was spinning, he could feel the lifestone buzzing against his chest as it frantically tried to cope with these new injuries. Before he could quite get his wits together, there was a ponderous _thud_ and a dark figure loomed up in his peripheral vision.

One of his own iron golems, gleaming red at the seams, raised a fist to crush him into the ground.

_-vwip-_

It took a moment for the horror to set in, and another moment for the pain to hit. Then he screamed, thrashing in panic as he tried, utterly in vain, to remove his arm from inside a tree. Something in the back of his head knew it was useless, even as the lifestone vomited out great gouts of energy trying to repair the limb now inextricably fused with the thick oak trunk. It was agony, it was terror and it was—it was—

_A shimmering wall of darkness, all the eyes watching him, he reached forward. . . ._

_—couldn't pull away, couldn't get out, couldn't feel his arm—_

_Darkness clutching at his mind, someone was laughing at him, he was going to die he was going to die he was going to die—_

It was familiar.

_-vwip-_

Rythian screamed again, clutching at the bloody stump of his right arm, curled on the ground and writhing. The lifestone was weaving his skin back together, stopping the bleeding, but he could feel its energy draining, so fast, too fast. . . .

Xephos stepped on his neck.

Rythian looked up at him and knew that this was a fight he could not possibly win.

But, glimpsing a veil of shimmering purple out of the corner of his eye, he decided to ensure that someday, someone could.

The point of the diamond sword insinuated its way between his armor plates until it prodded the flesh of his stomach.

"Goodbye, Rythian," Xephos said softly, and plunged the blade into him.

With a scream that edged out of _human_ and into _else,_ Rythian flung a fireball into Xephos's chest, hurling him backwards, into the waiting mouth of the Nether portal.

Xephos caught the edges of the portal and made as though to throw himself back towards Rythian, but the mage had struggled to his feet and flung another burst of force at Xephos, this one in the form of an immobilizing wave of cold.

An entirely different kind of chill was creeping its way from his fingers and toes towards his heart.

The portal began to grip Xephos in its etherial fingers, even as he began to shake the freezing loose.

"I will come back," he snarled through gritted teeth.

"And you will die," Rythian told him, though even breathing was torture.

"So will you," Xephos declared, his form growing unstable as the portal dragged at him.

Rythian shrugged. "No one can live forever."

Xephos vanished, and Rythian stumbled to the Nether Portal. He placed his bloodied hand against the hot obsidian and poured every ounce of power he could find into it. The grass around his feet died. Trees began to wither. His lifestone buzzed itself into silence.

The portal exploded, flinging him backwards through the air and peppering him with burning hot shards of obsidian. He came to rest in the mud, looking up at the blue, blue morning sky.

He smiled, hidden behind his mask, tears leaking slowly from the corners of his eyes.

And then he died.

 


	7. Proper Application of Force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, my hand shipped.

It was the small, background whine of a forcefield generator that first clued him in to the fact that something was incredibly wrong. The forcefield was to be left turned off except in an emergency—Nano and he had agreed that the forcefield was For Emergencies Only.

Lalna was out of bed and scrambling for his lab coat almost before his eyes had focused. He dashed upstairs, barefoot, wearing nothing but his pyjama-bottoms and his coat. It couldn't have been long after dawn—the air was cold and crisp, the sky clear as a sapphire, even obscured through the flickering hexagons of the field. The sand outside the front door was cool under his bare feet, and his palm tingled when he pressed it against the blue-gray shield of energy that enclosed him.

It bruised his knuckles and sent a painful shiver up his arm when he punched it in helpless frustration.

He could see, quite clearly, where the field generator stood, moved outside the impenetrable barrier. They weren't just protected, now; they were trapped.

The touch of a hand on his shoulder shocked him out of his panicked frustration; he spun on his heel and was met with Zoey's frightened countenance.

"Something's really wrong," she said.

"You think?" he snapped back. "Where the hell is Rythian?"

"I can't find him. He's not—I thought he was just—but he didn't come back, and—and—oh God, Lalna, something's really _really_ wrong!"

"Lalna?" Nano's voice was rusty from sleep, and she was rubbing at her eye as she stepped out the front door. "What's going on?"

"Bloody Rythian's bloody trapped us in here, that's what," he snarled.

"He did _not,"_ Zoey returned, an unaccustomed fierceness to her stance.

"Oh, didn't he? Must just be a coincidence that he's buggered off and the rest of us are fuckin' trapped like fish in a goddamn aquarium! Bloody _perfect_ bloody Rythian would _never_ do anything like that, of _course_ not."

"Yeah, that's right, he wouldn't!"

"Maybe not to _you!"_

"Stop it," Nano cut in, imposing herself between the two of them. "Both of you. That's enough. Lalna, get working on a jammer. Zoey, see if you can work out where the generator's pulling power from and if we can get to it."

"But—" Lalna objected, but Nano leveled a razor-sharp glare at him and the words died in his throat. He turned on his heel and marched back inside, his skin burning.

"Bloody Rythian," he grumbled under his breath. "Bloody goddamn Rythian, damn it. Always got to be the damn hero. Gonna get himself killed, stupid sod. Serve him damn well right. Finally get to be the goddamn martyr like he always wanted."

He cleared his throat—something had knotted up there, putting odd pressure on his sinuses.

_—the sound of screaming, so horribly loud even through the walls, pain and horror and helplessness, and oh dear God, not him, not him, it was supposed to be safe here—_

Lalna dug into the electronics chest with perhaps more roughness than was necessary, though he scarcely noticed; it was taking all his mental discipline just to focus on the task at hand.

_—cold beneath his feet, the stairs nearly tripped him six times, but thank God the door was unlocked because otherwise he would've had to break it down, and he would have, would have torn it apart with his fingernails—_

Thank God, they had spare focus matrices lying around, otherwise there would have been no chance in hell of getting the jammer together. He cut his fingertips open three separate times while twisting wires together inside the makeshift frequency transmitters, his hands clumsy and sweaty.

— _the body thrashing in the bed, hands clenched white-knuckled on the sheets, purple light spilling ragged from between closed eyelids, and Lalna begging him to wake up, shaking him, panic sending his heart into what felt like a state of fibrillation—_

By the time he got the frequency jammer back upstairs to the front door, the air was tight with strange magics, spilling over from somewhere else, building pressure upon his body like seawater on a sinking submarine. Nano was on her knees, the Flux writhing across her skin more frantically than it ever had before.

"Make it stop," she moaned, scratching at the purple stains on her arms. "Make it stop. . . ."

_—and Rythian gasped himself awake, breaking into terrified sobs, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Lalna's shirt, and Lalna folded him into his arms and squeezed, an assurance that Rythian was here and alive, and even he wasn't sure which of them he was reassuring with the gesture, but he needed it, God, he needed it, he could barely breathe for fear. . . ._

Some kind of flood-gate burst, and something exploded, and Lalna blacked out.

* * *

 

They arrived at the smoldering remains of Blackrock just after noon.

The worst thing about it, really, was the silence. No one cried out, no one broke into a sprint, no one let out so much as a sob, not even Zoey.

She walked to his side, slowly, like she had known he would be there—or perhaps as though she were expecting to wake up at any moment. She knelt by him and laid a hand on his forehead. He didn't move. Neither did anyone else.

For a brief moment, Lalna wondered if they were all dead, if the world had ended and they were all trapped in a strange little purgatory from which there was no escape.

Because there was Rythian, mangled and bloodied and dead, and Lalna felt _nothing,_ and no one was moving or speaking or doing anything at all, not even Zoey, and he hadn't been prepared for this, any of it. It would have been easier if someone had been crying; if someone had cursed or prayed or begged, screamed or sobbed or even so much as sniffled.

But there was nothing.

Just a body on the ground, and a hot sun overhead, and slow curls of smoke making their lazy way up to the clear blue sky.

"Hey there, good lookin'," Zoey murmured, her voice broken into so many pieces it was barely intelligible. There were tears on her face. "I'll hold off on b-burying you. Like you asked. Give you some . . . time to recover. . . ."

Lalna turned his back on the tableau, clamping his hand firmly over his mouth and taking a few quick steps away from the group. Burying Rythian. They were going to bury Rythian. Someone would dig a grave and they would put Rythian in it and cover him up—probably still in that horrible armor, God, it was hideous, he'd always hated it—and then Rythian would be buried—

_—please, don't go. I—I need . . . someone. Please, stay. I can't be alone—_

He couldn't breathe. And neither could Rythian, because he was dead. No miraculous recovery, no clone in storage, and wasn't this what Lalna had _wanted,_ for so long, just to have him out of the _way_ so he could finally get anything done, so he could finally stop trying to get his _attention_ —

_Of course I'll stay. You've already gone and woken me up, and believe me, 's not the kind of waking-up I ever want to have again. I'll stay as long as you need me._

This couldn't be happening. This _couldn't_ be happening. He wouldn't _let_ it happen.

_—that's impossible, you literally can't—_

He could fix this. He was going to _fix_ this, Rythian was not _allowed_ to die, not like this.

_You are no one to tell me what I can and cannot do._

_—Thank you. I'm—I'm glad you were . . . here. I just need—need you to hold me for . . . for a little while._

_I'll hold you as long as you need me to. As long as you want—_

_—I will tear this world_ **_apart,_ ** _brick by brick—_

Lalna whirled around and blurted, louder than he intended, "I can bring him back!"

The silence that followed was worse even than the one upon their first arrival. All eyes rested on him, and he was painfully aware of the tears that had, at some point, made their way onto his cheeks.

"Lalna, don't," Nano said softly, taking a half-step towards him.

"I mean it," he retorted, his voice thick. "I can _do_ it."

"Stop it," Lomadia snapped, glaring at him from where she knelt next to Zoey, one arm around the redhead's shoulders.

"Can you?" Zoey asked, barely a whisper.

"Yeah," he asserted, although his heart was skipping beats.

"That's _enough,_ Lalna," Nano reprimanded, her voice breaking.

"I know it can be done. I know I can do it. I—I saw _him_ do it before."

Another silence. Lalna couldn't swallow past the lump in his throat.

"When?" Lomadia demanded.

"When—when Blackrock . . . blew up—"

"When _you_ blew it up," she retorted.

"I—that's not—look, just, when—when it happened, Zoey . . . Zoey didn't make it out alive."

She looked up at him, slowly, her eyes bloodshot, her cheeks wet with tears. Lalna forged ahead, trying to speak past the trembling weakness that was dragging on his limbs.

"He—found you. In . . . in bits. Told me to—to make you an arm. I said it wasn't—that he couldn't—but he did, and he made me swear never to—to talk about it, but it doesn't matter now because—I can't just . . . _leave_ him. . . ."

"Wh-why would he . . . lie?" she croaked.

Lalna swallowed and met her eyes. "You'd have to ask him," he replied, his voice low and firm.

After a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Zoey got to her feet, supporting herself on Lomadia's shoulder.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin.

"Zoey—" Nano began, almost pleading.

"D'you wanna give up?" Zoey demanded. "Because I don't. I _won't._ Because _he_ wouldn't. _He_ didn't."

"Zoey, this is . . . crazy," Lomadia said, her face drawn with concern.

"Yeah," Zoey admitted, "but it's my kind of crazy. And if you're not going to help, then get out of the way."

Nano and Lomadia exchanged a glance, then lowered their eyes and buttoned their lips.

"All right," Lalna sighed, his voice just barely shaking. "Sorry to say, but we're gonna need an _awful_ lot of blood."

* * *

 

When Alsmiffy tumbled onto the floor of the sub-sub-basement, the last thing he expected to hear was laughter.

"Shut up!" Trottimus was yelling, jabbing a thick finger at Ross's chest. "If you don't stop fuckin' laughing, I'll fuckin' kill you again!"

Ross seemed to be completely incapacitated by laughter, leaning far back in his chair and clutching his belly with both hands.

"The fuck is goin' on here?" Smiffy demanded, hauling himself to his feet. He was trembling like a large green jelly, and only just managed to wobble his way to a nearby chair before his knees (or analogue structures) gave out. "And why the fuck is he laughin' like that?"

"Fuck if _I_ know!" Trott retorted, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Hasn't bloody stopped since he fell out of the fucking tube!"

Ross doubled over. There were tears leaking from the corners of his scrunched-closed eyes. "Bloody brains was _everywhere!"_ he gasped through his mirth. "I—haahah—I thought you'd _died!_ I thought _I'd_ died! Hahahah! Left me—hah—left me for fuckin' dead! Ahahah! And I died! Hah! _I fuckin' died!"_ And he dissolved again into helpless, half-mad laughter.

"Oy," Smiffy snapped, "quit that."

Ross only laughed harder. Alsmiffy slapped him, hard. The laughter stopped abruptly.

"You gonna quit bein' fuckin' terrifying, or am I gonna have to slap the shit out of you again?" Alsmiffy demanded.

The other was staring fixedly at his knees, breathing heavily, his eyes wide and unseeing.

"Nah," he said eventually, his voice thin and hoarse. "'M all right."

"Damn right you are," Smiffy grumbled, and then turned his attention to Trott. "Oy. How come we ain't dead?"

"Legit Builders, mate," Trottimus responded. He was rooting through what appeared to be a liquor cabinet and picking up every single bottle he could carry. "Decided to call in some insurance after all the shit went down at YogLabs."

"And you didn't think to tell anybody, ya great fuckin' twat?"

"It was a rush job, all right? I was _going_ to tell you, but the both of you was too busy wanking each other off over Hostile Corporate Takeover, or some shit."

"Hey, Operation HCT was a fuckin' _brilliant_ idea," Smiffy objected.

"How _rush,_ Trott?" Ross asked. He was clumsily wiping the moisture from his face, as though he hadn't quite remembered where all his joints were.

Trottimus shrugged, waddling back over to the table with his arms full of liquor. "Couple hours."

Ross's hand flew to his mouth, stifling a burst of high-pitched giggling. Alsmiffy hit him again, scowling. Ross ducked under the table and set his back against the wall, biting down hard on his knuckle. Trott dumped his alcoholic spoils on the table and went back for more.

"Hours, mate? Cuttin' it a little close there, ain't it?"

"How was _I_ s'posed to know ol' Xephy'd come a-murderin'? I ain't _psychic."_

Under the table, Ross began to sing a lyrically-altered, rather more topical version of _Here We Come A-Wassailing_ in a cracked, tuneless voice. Alsmiffy kicked him.

"Right, okay, I'll kick the shit out of you for that later, when Ross ain't quite so nutty." He stuck his head under the table. "Hold 'im down for me, mate?"

Ross simply nodded. He had his knuckle back in his mouth. There was blood seeping out from under his lips. Alsmiffy straightened back up and glared at Trott.

"At _least_ tell me you took care of the contractors properly."

"'Course I did, mate. Anthrax in the mail, standard operatin' procedure."

Smiffy managed a smile. "Nice, mate, nice." He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "So. What the fuck d'we do now?"

"Dunno, mate," Trott replied, ambling over to settle in Ross's vacated seat and dropping another double-armful of liquor on the table. "I was thinkin' 'get blind drunk and pass out for a few days,' to start with."

"Yeah, yeah, good plan," Alsmiffy agreed, plucking up a bottle of cheap whiskey and unscrewing the lid. At a curious, muffled hum from under the table, he passed another bottle down to Ross's waiting, outstretched hand. "And after that?"

Trottimus shrugged, taking a long pull from a jug of spiced rum. He winced. "Eugh. Christ. Hmm, well, could always try our hand at world domination."

"Trotty," Smiffy declared, clapping a hand on his compatriot's shoulder, "I like the way you fuckin' think."

 


	8. The Blood of Angry Men

Strippin caught Sjin as he toppled out of his cloning tank—the farmer was surprisingly heavy for his size—and was forced to defend himself almost immediately as Sjin began flailing like a landed fish. Lalna had already stuffed his hands back into the pockets of his blood-smeared lab coat and was walking away, his face drawn with distant concerns.

"Sips!" Sjin gasped, fighting to be free of Strippin's arms. "Oh God, oh God!"

"Oy, _oy!_ Calm down," Strippin insisted. Sjin elbowed him in the face. Strippin dropped him.

Evidently the shock of impact jolted Sjin back to his senses, for he paused and took some time to look around.

"I'm . . . alive?" he hazarded, slightly-unfocused gaze settling on Strippin's face.

"Don't hit like a dead man, that's for sure," Strippin grumbled, rubbing the aching red spot on his face. "Yeah, you're alive. And Xephos has buggered off and ain't coming back, and we could use a proper damn farmer."

"Oh," Sjin said mildly. The lines around his piercing blue eyes deepened slightly. "Where's Sips, then?"

Strippin removed his cap and rubbed the back of his head, looking at the floor. This was the part he really, _really_ hadn't wanted to do.

"He's . . . dead."

Sjin blinked. "What?"

"He ain't waking up, is what I'm saying. No clone. Er, sorry, mate."

Sjin continued to stare blankly at him.

"Er, Sjin?"

"He's . . . he hasn't got a clone?" Sjin asked, his voice faint.

"Yeah. Sorry, mate."

"He's dead?"

Strippin nodded, glancing back at the farmer. To his surprise, there were tears on the weather-worn face.

"Oy, mate, you all right?"

"Why hasn't he got a clone?"

"Look, I know it's—"

"Why hasn't he got a clone?" Sjin's voice had gone sharp, and his fists were clenched white-knuckled against the sandstone floor.

Strippin raised his hands, palms-out, in a gesture of pacification. "I dunno! You'd have to ask Lalna. I've only just got out of a pod myself."

Sjin was suddenly on his feet, strung tight as the last steel cable on a falling suspension bridge.

"Where's Lalna?" he demanded, his voice shaking.

"Er, his lab. But he ain't exactly taking visitors. Barely got him out to wake you up, even."

_"Where?"_ Sjin growled.

Strippin took a half-step back and pointed. "Down the corridor. Two flights of stairs. 'Nother corridor, big fuck-off door at the very end, can't miss it."

Without a single further word, Sjin turned on his heel and stalked from the room. Strippin could have sworn his feet left craters in the floor.

* * *

 

The door slammed open with enough force to crack the thick oak. Lalna jumped halfway out of his skin and let out a short cry. His grip on the dagger slipped, and arterial blood spurted out of the goat's neck, splattering the wall.

_What a waste,_ he thought idly, somewhere behind the pounding of his heart.

"Jesus _Christ,_ Sjin!" he cried, hastily angling the slaughtered goat so that the majority of its remaining blood would empty into the shallow depression at the top of the altar. "Ever heard of knocking?"

Sjin seemed to have momentarily lost his voice, staring at the carnage of the altar room. Lalna had already mostly given up trying to keep it tidy. There wasn't much point, really. The only thing not crusted rust-brown was the tall glass tank in the far corner, rimed to opacity with frost, coils of pale vapor drifting from its base.

"Wh-what. . . ?" Sjin croaked. White was showing all the way around his eyes.

"Look, it's just blood magic, don't look so horrified. 'S not like I've been killing _people._ Now why the hell're you kickin' in my door?"

Pulling himself together slightly, Sjin demanded, "Where's Sips?"

"Dead," Lalna answered offhandedly. "Didn't get his clone out before YogLabs went down. Sorry, mate."

_"Sorry, mate?"_ Sjin spat, his voice cracking. "That's all you have to say to me? _Sorry, mate?_ Sips is _dead,_ and all you can think of to say is—is _sorry, mate?"_

Lalna considered for a moment. The goat gave a half-hearted twitch and his grip tightened slightly, both on the horn in his right hand and on the sacrificial dagger in his left.

"Yeah," he answered, "'s about it."

Sjin lunged at him, pulling up just short of impaling his own throat on Lalna's dagger.

"Wouldn't do that, if I was you," Lalna intoned. Sjin appeared to be vibrating with the effort of not strangling Lalna on the spot.

"Why me?" he growled. "Why me, and not him?"

Lalna shrugged. "You were more important. Useful skills, all that."

"What, and he _isn't_ important? He _doesn't_ have useful skills?"

"Other than keeping you well-buggered? Not really."

Sjin's face twisted in a snarl and he made as though to lunge for Lalna again. Lalna pressed the dagger into Sjin's throat a little harder, letting loose a slow dribble of blood.

"I'm not overly attached to you, either," he said softly, watching the viscous crimson trail on Sjin's neck with an uncomfortable intensity.

"So what the hell is all this, then?" Sjin hissed. His gaze seemed to bore clear into Lalna's skull.

"Like I said. Blood magic."

"What _for?"_

"Bringing back Rythian." His voice barely even shook. He was proud of that.

In his moment of slight distraction, Lalna suddenly found himself disarmed; the dagger flung across the room, his arm stinging from a sharp impact. Sjin's hand fisted in Lalna's coat and the farmer dragged him down to glare directly into his face.

"Good. Then you can bring back Sips."

"I really can't."

Sjin jerked hard on Lalna's coat. Lalna was, very slowly, sliding his hand towards his belt, where the reassuring weight of his spare dagger hung.

"Why _not?"_ Sjin growled.

Lalna sighed, still wearing his nonchalance like a set of armor. His hand was almost, _almost_ to the dagger, and he did need a _lot_ more blood. . . .

"Look, I'll tell you what. You bring me a body, I'll bring you back Sips. Can't do it without the body. All right?"

"And why should I believe—"

"Lalna?"

The intrusion of a bemused alto voice from the doorway defused the tension somewhat—Sjin took a half step back, loosening his grip, and Lalna's hand paused where it rested on the hilt of his spare dagger.

"Hi, Zoey," he greeted pleasantly. "Sjin's up. We're having a bit of a disagreement about Sips."

"Oh," Zoey said softly. She walked up to Sjin, hesitated, then embraced him. "I'm so sorry," she murmured. "He was next on the list, he really was. I wish we could have done more. I wish we could have got him out in time. I'm so sorry, Sjin."

Sjin looked down at her, clearly startled, then glanced back up at Lalna, who shrugged. Sjin let his hands fall onto Zoey's shoulders.

"It's . . . thanks."

Zoey sniffled and stepped back, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "I think that one's dry, Lalna," she pointed out.

Lalna glanced at the dead goat. Blood was no longer even trickling from its slit throat.

"Ah, right. Found any more yet?"

She shook her head. "I think they've got wise to us."

"Damn. All right, well, I'm going to clean up here. Mind catching Sjin up on everything?"

"Mm. C'mon, Sjin. It's sort of . . . gross in here. We'll go outside. Not much to see, really, but at least it doesn't smell."

Sjin frowned, but followed after Zoey as she took her leave. He cast one wary glance back at Lalna as he crossed the threshold. Lalna waved cheerily, waggling his bloodsoaked fingers, then turned back to the dead goat.

"Prick," he grumbled, and began the task of cutting the animal down while the altar burbled and fizzed next to him, greedily drinking down his latest offering. "Yeah yeah, I know," he sighed. "Give me a second, would you? Sheesh."

After a good deal of sawing, sweating, and cursing, Lalna finally managed to cut the goat's corpse down. It flopped heavily onto the altar, spattering blood across his lab coat. The altar hissed and spat, and somewhere deep underground there was a groan of shifting rocks. Lalna stood back and watched as the dead goat began to desiccate, to shrivel and pale before his very eyes. He folded his arms and tapped his foot, glancing around the gruesome room.

"Be nice if you could do that for the whole room," he muttered. "Spare _me_ a lot of time and effort."

There was a stuttering slurp, and the altar quieted. Lalna dragged the dry husk of the goat off the altar and carried it to the small disposal unit nearby—once thrown in, the corpse was vaporized almost instantly. Lalna dusted off his hands, smearing blood over his palms, and sighed. His eyes strayed to the frozen glass tank, out of place amongst the carnage.

"Sorry, Rythian," he murmured. "Hang in there, yeah?"

After a moment's pause, he sighed, hanging his head, and walked out of the lab, trailing the scent of death behind him.

* * *

 

The Nether was not a pleasant place at the best of times—a burning wasteland, filled with hideous creatures bent on the wanton destruction on any interloper, with precipitous cliffs and lakes of molten rock, with the ruins of centuries' worth of ill-fated expeditions.

Nothing could have prepared it for the thermonuclear rage of Xephos.

Every portal had exploded, all at once, throughout the entire hellscape, showering the land with shards of obsidian and filling the air with crackles of directionless magic that earthed themselves on any living thing they could find.

Xephos, positioned as he was directly adjacent to the epicenter of the explosion, was subjected to shrapnel both physical and magical, needles of obsidian and power that dug into his blackened skin and arced across his heart.

The second explosion was like a meteor-impact; a shockwave-fireball that bloomed out from Xephos in all directions. It shattered the earth, pulverized it, melted it; caught the air aflame and shattered clusters of glowstone from the ceiling; blasted into vapor anything so fragile as flesh within three hundred meters. At the white-hot center of the explosion, Xephos stood, teeth bared in a snarl, eyes gleaming blood-red in the light of his rage. Skin was still sloughing off of him, charred and ruined, leaving bone-white flesh smooth beneath it. Flux boiled through his veins, sparked between his fingers and clawed greedily at the super-heated air around him, at the lava that hissed and boiled at his feet.

He would _not_ be denied his vengeance.

Slowly as the condensation of a star, his rage began to subside—not to diminish, but rather to coalesce, to compress, to take shape. He forged it in the iron furnace of his resolve, shaped and beat and honed it. It was crude, in this first iteration, and he knew it.

The lava had cooled beneath his feet by the time he moved from his position. All traces of Xephos had burned from him, leaving him pale and nearly formless, naked, without plan or apparent purpose.

Israphel looked out over the blasted ruination he had brought, and the corner of his lipless mouth twitched in a smirk. So what if he had no weapons, no armor, no way back to the world that had so thoroughly betrayed him? So what if the disfigured occupants of this hellscape— _his_ hellscape, his _kingdom—_ were creeping out from their crevices and regarding him with hungry eyes? So what if his power was scattered across the Nether and his subjects had not yet learned to obey him? He would shape this place to his will, he would find a way back, he would be a _god._

He had time.

* * *

 

_"Xephos?"_

_He glanced up from his work, bleary-eyed._

_"Hm? Oh, Honeydew, it's you. I thought you'd've gone home by now."_

_"Yeah, um, about that. Thought I might ask if you, y'know, wanted, erm, anything. Before I head out."_

_His head cocked slightly to the side. "This is new," he commented._

_Honeydew looked at the corner of the room, fidgeting with the leather strap that hung over his chest. "Y-yeah, well, it's just . . . you haven't really left? In a couple of days? And it's sort of worrying."_

_Xephos sighed, setting down his pen, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Still fussing over me after all this time?"_

_"Well, yeah, 's kind of part of my charm. If I didn't look after you, who would?"_

_"Generally speaking, me. We left all that behind, friend. For good."_

_"I wasn't saying we didn't! Or, even, that we shouldn't've! In fact, I didn't say anything about the old days at all, did I. That was all you."_

_Xephos folded his arms. "You were thinking it. I could see it in your beady dwarf-eyes."_

_"Oy, rude much!"_

_He laughed, getting to his feet creakily. "All right. I could do with stretching my legs. I've got a good demonstration for you coming up. It's not quite done yet, but if you want—"_

_"No, not really."_

_"Yeah, thought you might. All right, I'll follow you. Lead the way." And he winked._

_Honeydew grinned, somewhere amongst all of his beard. "Damn right," he declared. "Now, I was thinkin', since you're so shit at hole diggin', I'd just take you out for dinner somewhere meaty."_

_"What—I am not . . . shit at hole-digging!"_

_"Yeah mate, you are. Trust me, I know hole diggin'. Also know shit. Sorry, just the way the jaffa crumbles. Anyway. We're goin' to get shitloads of pork and bacon. And booze. Loads of booze. Lalna's got a new brew on he says'll knock out a dinosaur, though I've got no fuckin' clue how he'd know that. Told him it wouldn't knock out a dwarf and he laughed at me, so I figure I'm gonna drain a whole pint and smash it over his smug head."_

_A heavy hand_ _**thwapped** _ _onto Honeydew's helm, and Xephos smiled down at him._

_"You're an insufferable idiot, you know that, right?"_

_"Like I said. Part of my charm. Now. Follow me! I'll lead the way!"_

_Xephos shook his head, chuckling, and Honeydew stomped confidently out of his office._

* * *

 

Frozen deep within the artificial sleep of the cloning chamber, Honeydew twitched slightly.

It was just barely possible to see, through the thick ginger brush of his beard, a smile.

 


	9. The Question

Lomadia was sitting outside keeping watch over the late-evening desert when the Hats arrived.

She heard the singing first—a raucous rendition of _He's Got The Whole World In His Hands,_ sung with foul interjections and an unorthodox backing of beat-boxing. She sat back and waited, her lips twisted into something that was nearly a smile.

The Hats came up over the nearest rise of sand, swashing so much buckle it was a wonder they were all still on their feet. Ross had both hands over his mouth, providing the rhythmic backing; Alsmiffy was belting altered lyrics at the top of his lungs, and Trottimus was interjecting at every possible opportunity with hoots, harmonies, and excessively foul cursing.

It was Trottimus, in fact, who spotted Lomadia first, and he let out a scream that could have shattered wineglasses. Alsmiffy leapt a good five feet off the ground and landed, crouched, on Trott's shoulders, clutching at the other's face and neck for purchase. Ross tumbled over backwards and sprinted a good fifteen feet before face-planting in the sand.

"Hallo, boys," Lomadia greeted them. "Havin' a sing-a-long, are we?"

"Jesus _Christ!"_ Trottimus exclaimed. "Scared the piss outta me!"

"Ooh, he's weed himself!" Alsmiffy decried through gritted teeth.

"Piss off!" Trott retorted, swatting at Smiffy's head.

"That's what you did, innit mate? _Innit?"_

"Fuck's _sake,_ guys," Ross grumbled, stalking back from his sandy pratfall. "I can't take the two of you anywhere!"

"I'll take you somewhere, mate," Smiffy leered.

 _"Oh!_ He's gonna take you out back, mate."

"Gonna take you out back and fuckin' _bash_ your fuckin' _head_ in!"

"What? No! You can't do that, I'll _die!"_

"Can and will mate, too late now, rrrgh, I'm so fuckin' _randy!"_

"Whoah, _whoah,_ oy, get off my head, I don't want your slimy scrot all over my head!"

"He has got a slimy scrot, hasn't he."

"So fuckin' slimy, mate, it's disgustin'."

"Oy," Lomadia interjected, getting to her feet. All three Hats jumped again. "If you three idiots are done pillow-talking each other, you should get inside."

"Inside?" Ross questioned, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms. "Why would we go inside with you? Seems like a bad idea."

"Yeah, seems like a right stupid idea," Smiffy agreed, climbing off of Trott's head and brushing himself off. "Why would we go into your shit base? We've got our own base."

"Back in the woods," Trott supplied.

"It's a fuckin' great base, too. We've got water. And food, _shitloads_ of food, had a fuckin' feast, didn't we, mates?"

"Stuffed our faces," Ross said.

"Shat massively," Trott put in sagely.

"Also, we still own the deeds to everything, so really, this is our base, too."

"Yep, yeah, that's true, one-hundred percent true."

"Shut up Trott, you fuckin' kiss-arse."

"Kiss _your_ arse, if you know what I mean."

_"Wa-hey!"_

"Boys," Lomadia warned.

"Point is," Smiffy continued, "we don't need your shite base. We've got our awesome base. Back in the woods."

"It's very secret," Ross told her.

"Yeah. Top-fucking-Secret. And made out of puppies. _Shitloads_ of puppies. Got so many fuckin' puppies we don't know what to do with 'em! Get mad, rrgh, just kick a fuckin' puppy! It don't matter, we can just get another one from outside, fuckin' _thousands_ of 'em! Bash their little puppy heads in for fun!"

"Whoah, uh—"

"Mate, no. You can't—you can't say that."

"Smiff mate, that was—shit, that was _way_ overboard."

"Yeah, too far. Way too far."

"They're just puppies guys, don't see what you're upset about."

"Yeah, but you can't _say_ that, people _like_ puppies!"

"I don't."

"Fuck you, then!"

Lomadia cleared her throat. The Hats started as though they'd forgotten she was there.

"Would you like to come in and get some water?" she asked.

The three glanced at each other.

"Yeah, absolutely."

"Fuckin' parched."

"Been walking in this fuckin' desert all goddamn day, thanks Trott."

"Fuck you, Smiff."

"Fuck _you,_ Trott!"

"Christ, get a room you two."

 _"Fuck_ you, Ross!"

Shaking her head, Lomadia turned and walked inside, followed by the sound of insistent banter.

* * *

 

It was midnight, and Alsmiffy was alone.

There was a particular corridor he hadn't seen nearly enough of on the quick tour Lomadia had given them; it was fairly _humming_ with magical energies. Perhaps it was just that his skin was more permeable to the air than most other organisms', but Smiffy seemed to be much keener than his compatriots when it came to picking up on nearby magic. He'd spent the time since dinner—which had included some _curious_ ale—putting together a low-tech sort of thaumometer. Although he was adept at picking out the presence of magical energies, he couldn't for the life of him locate or qualify the source of them.

"Aw, come on, you piece of shit," he grumbled, shaking the small gold hoop. The purple crystal inside was spinning lazily, directionless. "It's got to be round here _somewhere."_

Five minutes of fruitless searching finally led him to a set of back stairs that Lomadia had helpfully failed to mention existed. Heading down them, Smiffy began to feel dizzy and slightly nauseous—whatever was happening down there, it was making his skin _burn._

There was a door at the end of the corridor at the base of the stairs, and when Smiffy pointed the thaumometer at it, the little device buzzed like it was full of hornets. The crystal in the center went reddish. Smiffy frowned.

"The hell. . . ?"

"Hello."

Alsmiffy spun on his heel, jumping back instinctively. Lalna was standing on the stairs, not three feet behind where Smiffy had stood. He was looking down at the green man with an expression that was, for reasons Smiffy couldn't place, extremely disconcerting. There was blood on his lab coat. His hands were shaking.

"Er, hi," Alsmiffy responded, carefully tucking the thaumometer into his back pocket.

Lalna's head tilted to the side. His eyes were bright as earth shards.

"Does anyone else know you're here?" Lalna asked slowly.

Smiffy could hear his own blood sloshing raucously in his head. His leg started jittering with nerves.

"Y-yeah, oh, _yeah,_ loads of people—everyone really. Been here for _hours._ Had dinner. With everyone. 'Cept you, I guess, 'cause you weren't there. Just on my way back now. Got a bit lost. Ross and Trott'll have my head for bein' late."

His tongue felt like wet cotton in his mouth. His lips were going numb.

Lalna watched him, unmoving, for five excruciatingly long breaths.

"Shame," he said at last, and brushed past Alsmiffy as though he had ceased to exist.

Alsmiffy held his breath until the door closed behind Lalna with a boom of finality, then sprinted all the way back to the room he was sharing with the other Hats.

"Smiff mate?" Trottimus mumbled, rousing himself slightly. "Fuck's goin' on?"

"Shut up an' stay between me an' the door," Alsmiffy snapped, his voice hushed.

"All right, mate?"

"Fuck, no, Trott. We ain't none of us goin' anywhere alone again."

"Fuck you, Smiff," Ross slurred, muffled through his pillow.

"Yeah, fine. But you ain't leavin' this room alone."

"Whatever," Ross sighed, and promptly fell back asleep.

"Somethin' happen, mate?" Trott inquired.

"Nearly, mate," Smiffy replied. His voice was shaking. "And I'm fuckin' glad it didn't."

* * *

 

The door closed behind him, softly, and Lalna leaned against it with a sigh. He dragged a hand down his face—how long had it been since he'd slept?

"Doesn't matter," he muttered, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. Later."

The room was meticulously clean—floors polished, furniture wiped down, walls scrubbed. Every last molecule of blood had been fed into the altar, which was glowing faintly from the stored energy. Lalna gave it a wide berth as he crossed to the far corner of the room.

Behind the thick layer of ice, Rythian looked back out at him, the light dead in his eyes, his face expressionless. Lalna sighed and leaned his forehead against the ice.

"I really wish you'd've kept your eyes shut," he murmured, his breath condensing in a white fog where it touched the frozen surface. "I'm trying. I really am. Just need a little more time. Just a little. Almost there."

He couldn't meet Rythian's eyes, not that it would have mattered much anyway. It wasn't as though Rythian could actually _see_ him, or what he had done here.

Thank God.

"Soon, Ryth," he breathed, closing his eyes. "I'll see you soon. Just need—"

"Lalna?"

He froze in place, suddenly acutely aware of the positioning of his body—pressed against the ice like he was window-shopping, like he was—

"Hi Nano."

He heard the door close behind her. Quite soundproof, this room. He'd made sure.

"Er . . . am I interrupting something?"

"No, not really." His voice was too casual, too light. God, why was it so hard to lie to her?

"D'you want me to go? I was just a bit . . . worried, since you said you'd be up in a few minutes, and it's been almost an hour."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he mentioned, finally turning to face her. He rubbed the back of his head and approximated a smile. "Got . . . distracted."

"Mm. It happens. Are you going to be . . . working, then?"

He glanced over his shoulder at Rythian, then at the glowing altar, before looking at Nano.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, probably."

"You really should sleep. Or at least eat something. Did you eat supper?"

"Huh? Oh. Uh, yeah, I think."

"You didn't, did you."

Another forgery of a smile. "Prob'ly not." There was enough space between them, maybe she couldn't see how his hands were shaking, how there was sweat slowly gathering on his forehead.

Her brow furrowed. "Are you all right? D'you want me to bring you anything?"

"I'm—no, I'm—it's fine, I'm—"

He was swaying on his feet. His hands were itching like the skin was trying to peel itself off. His heart was pounding in his ears and he could _feel_ Rythian's eyes boring into the back of his head.

"Lalna?" Nano said, as though from very far away.

He blacked out.

* * *

 

_"So—so I've got to ask the question. The really dumb question." He was drunker than he'd intended to be, but oh well, it was too late now._

_"Which one?" Rythian countered, his eyes crinkled nearly closed with mirth, cheeks well-flushed. "I can think of a lot of dumb questions."_

_"No no,_ **_the_ ** _dumb question. The really dumb one."_

_"Is it 'do you want another beer?' Because I think we both know the answer is yes."_

_"Shut up, you're drunk."_

**_"I'm_ ** _drunk?_ **_You're_ ** _drunk!"_

_"Yeah, so? Shut up and lemme ask my stupid question."_

_"Okay, ask your question." Rythian leaned back in his chair, throwing a leg over the arm of it. He was plucking at the loose fibers of the upholstery absently. It was immensely distracting._

_"What's under the mask?"_

_Rythian's head tilted over the other way, his eyes glowing a soft teal sort of color._

_"Let me answer your question with another question: what's between your legs?"_

_Lalna flushed so hotly he thought his hair might catch on fire. "What's that got to do with anything?" he exclaimed._

_"The thing is, it's exactly as personal as what you asked me."_

_He was going to object, but bit his lip. He sighed. "Sorry. I didn't . . . really think."_

_"I didn't say it was off-limits. I just said it was personal."_

_"You don't have to answer!"_

_"I didn't think I did. I just wanted you to know what you were asking."_

_"Well, right, I think I've got it now."_

_"Good. Do you still want to ask it?"_

_Lalna shifted uncomfortably. Maybe he wasn't drunk enough for this. Maybe he should drop it. Probably he should drop it. But it had been eating him_ **_alive_ ** _for over a year, and when would Rythian ever answer it, if not now?_

_"Yeah," he decided, "I think so." He flushed again. "Am I gonna have to answer yours?"_

_"Maybe, someday," Rythian said, and winked. Lalna thought he might spontaneously combust. "Here. It's not particularly impressive."_

_And he'd reached up, carefully, and pulled the cloth down._

_"Oh," said Lalna, ogling._

_"Told you it wasn't impressive," Rythian said. He was vibrating, pieces of him chipping off in flecks of purple light. He pulled the mask back up._

_"Does it . . . always do that?"_

_"Only if anyone's looking."_

_"So you can only snog people if their eyes're closed?" He flinched the moment the words were out of his mouth._

_Rythian laughed. "Generally, yes. Otherwise the spontaneous teleportation starts, and that gets awkward very fast."_

_He giggled—God dammit, he actually_ **_giggled._ ** _"Yeah, I bet. Um. Thanks."_

_"For what?"_

_"Trusting me? I guess?"_

_He laughed again. "I don't expect you'll ever have an opportunity to make use of the information. I also fully intend to get so immensely drunk that I don't remember you know about it."_

_"Y'know, I think I like that idea."_

_Rythian raised his glass to him. "Cheers."_

* * *

 

It smelled of blood. He was covered in it, although it was being drawn from his skin with alacrity. He was breathing heavily, his limbs were shaking.

_Oh, God._

There was a body on the altar, slowly desiccating, being swallowed by the spell. He clapped a hand over his mouth. He remembered it, as though through the eyes of a stranger—what he'd done, how calm he'd been, how merciless.

The ice in the corner was melting. The altar was red-hot.

Lalna backed away and hid under a table while the world began to tear itself apart behind him.

And he tried, frantically, to convince himself that it was worth it.

 


	10. Inner Spaces

Rythian woke up.

This was an unexpected development, and so he did the only thing he could think of to do and started screaming.

Everything hurt. Every inch of his skin was on fire, his bones were being twisted viciously, his guts had been thrown into a trash-compactor and his brain seemed to be attempting to dig its way out of his skull. The worst was the stump of his right arm, which was spitting splinters of bone into the ice around it and sucking them back up again, reforming the arm he'd lost.

He could feel himself unraveling, the thin threads of humanity so carefully woven about him beginning to fray. His whole being was buzzing, trying to tear loose from the ice that burned so horribly against his skin.

Rythian toppled to the floor, still screaming. The bones of his arm had generally reconstructed themselves and were now being lashed together with tendon, cartilage, and muscle. There was water on the floor and it was eating away at his skin like acid.

_-vwip-_

His stomach lurched at the sudden displacement, and he slammed hard into the floor only moments later—he must have rematerialized several feet off the ground. He was vaguely aware of the fact that the noise he was making was not a human sort of sound, was in fact something that rang powerfully of ender, and he could _feel_ someone's gaze pricking hot and painful against the side of his face.

_-vwip-_

He landed on his back in a pool of steaming water and—

_-vwip- -vwip-_

—staggered sideways into the wall, clutching at—

_-vwip-_

—his arm, which was fleshing over in a tremendous wave of itching pain—

_-vwip-_

Someone caught him, and the prickling of eyes on his skin vanished. He was still vibrating, nearly humming with the motion, chips of himself flaking off into motes of violet light, the scream still tearing ragged from his throat, but there were hands on him, and someone was saying his name over and over, their mouth pressed against the top of his head, their voice low and almost pleading.

_Rythian. Rythian. Rythian._

He took his first breath.

 _Rythian. Ry_ thian.

The vibrating stopped, and he settled into himself.

"...Rythian?"

His consciousness filtered in slowly, one sense at a time. He was half-reclining on the floor, his limbs askew like a newborn foal's; someone was holding him, too tightly. They were saying his name, and cooing soft assurances into his hair. The room smelled of blood and burning flesh. He was cold—immensely, deeply cold, and empty in a way he could not place.

There was a sand-colored ceiling, and a tuft of unruly blond hair, and Rythian realized that, against all odds, he was alive. He made a weird little noise in the back of his throat that was intended to be some kind of word, but didn't quite make it there.

"Rythian?" Lalna's voice was shaking.

"Wh—where's Zoey?"

Lalna went very still.

"She's . . . not around. Right now."

He tried to sit up and failed. He could barely lift his own head.

"Where's Zoey?" he insisted.

"Look, you've . . . you've just been through a lot, should probably take it—"

_"Where's. Zoey."_

After a moment, Lalna sighed, shifting slightly.

"She . . . left. A couple of days ago. I—I didn't _want_ to tell her, y'know, about . . . you bringing her back, and all. But she sort of—she's really, sort of, persuasive? And then she said something about not even being able to trust herself, if she couldn't trust you, and that we shouldn't, really, go looking for her, 'cause she'd come back when she was ready." He swallowed. "I'm . . . really sorry, Rythian."

He was not surprised. Surely no forest is surprised when it burns to the ground, no river is shocked when it finally runs dry. The old and sickly are not taken aback to find that they have died.

He had known this would happen. Known, and dreaded, and countless times berated himself for not just _telling_ her.

He had known, but he still had not been ready.

"Is she . . . all right?" His words were scarcely audible, even to himself.

"Dunno. Haven't seen her since."

"I mean when—when she left, was she . . . was she all right?"

Lalna was silent for a moment, thinking.

"No," he said at last, "but I think she'll get there."

"I'm glad," Rythian attempted, but all that came through his mouth was a choked sob, and he was too weak to even draw his knees to his chest as despair flooded out of him.

Lalna drew him closer, rocking slowly back and forth.

"'S all right now, Ryth," he murmured. "Everything's all right."

* * *

 

In the end, Lalna had to carry him out of the altar room. Rythian couldn't for the life of him get his legs to support his own weight, not even with his arm slung over Lalna's broad shoulders.

"You're really not all that heavy," Lalna commented, hoisting Rythian into his arms like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold of their home. "We'll park you upstairs somewhere and get you caught up on . . . well, everything, really. And, y'know, food and water and stuff, if you want."

Rythian leaned his head against Lalna's shoulder. He still couldn't quite force himself to speak—the trembling grief was still simmering just at the base of his throat, and he was sure that if he opened his mouth it would boil over again. Lalna shifted his grip with a small noise of effort.

"Well, I mean, really I think probably we should do the water thing, even if you're not feeling up to it, 'cause . . . I dunno, water's important. Probably a good first step, anyways." He cleared his throat. "Could probably do with something to eat, myself. 'S been sort of . . . busy, past couple of days."

He nodded absently, only half-listening to Lalna's gentle babbling. His eyes had drifted closed at some point and he couldn't be bothered to open them. He was so _immensely_ tired. . . .

There was a moment of tricky maneuvering when Lalna came to a closed door, and then they were out in a brightly lit space full of voices and movement, which went utterly silent in the space of a single second.

Rythian pried his eyelids open, somehow, and looked out at the world. The first thing he saw was Nilesy, half-standing out of his chair, fingertips pressed to his lips, tears brimming in his eyes. He let out a quiet chuff that might have been laughter, and his face lit up like the first dawn of summer.

"Hello, you," he greeted, his voice thick with emotion.

The simmering grief in Rythian's throat drained a few levels.

"Hi, Nilesy," he replied.

Nilesy let out something between a laugh and a sob and darted forward, pulling up short only a foot away from Rythian, his hands held out cautiously.

"I—is it okay if I—I mean, I just want to—ahah, sorry, I'm just. . . ."

Rythian smiled, just a little bit. "It's fine, Nilesy."

Nilesy touched two knuckles to Rythian's shoulder and nearly collapsed on the spot, still stuck somewhere between laughter and tears. Lalna's fingers tightened against Rythian's torso and thigh.

"Don't mean to interrupt, but d'you two mind having your heartfelt reunion on, like, a couch or something? My arms are getting tired."

"Oh! Oh, right, no, of course, sorry!" Nilesy exclaimed, jerking his hand back as though Rythian's skin had burned him. Lalna shifted his grip again and headed off for the nearest corner of the room, which contained a worn-down sofa. He deposited Rythian on it carefully, then sat down next to him, looping a casual arm around his shoulders to hold him upright. Nilesy fluttered over and placed himself on the edge of the couch on Rythian's other side, his eyes bright with wonder. He reached out and touched Rythian's arm again, still evidently amazed by his existence.

Ravs walked over from the impromptu bar against the other wall, his nose and eyes significantly redder than usual. He said nothing, just pulled up a chair and sat, occasionally wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.

"Hiya, Rythian," Lomadia said softly, sitting down next to Nilesy. Rythian wasn't sure where she'd come from—everything more than ten feet away was blurry and indistinct, and everything that had happened in the last three minutes was slippery and hard to recall. "Good to have you back."

"Nilesy, get him a bottle of water, would you?" Lalna requested.

"Hm? Oh, right, right! Yep, got it, back in a tick!" He got to his feet and scurried off, only pausing a moment to press two knuckles to Ravs's shoulder as he passed.

Rythian's eyelids were getting heavy again, and he let them drift closed, leaning his head back. He must have fallen unconscious, because when he managed to open his eyes again, there were quite a few more people gathered around him, and there was a warm glass bottle in his hand.

"Hey, there he is," Lomadia commented. "Morning, sleepy-head."

"Still think he looks like a zombie," Trottimus grumbled, sipping something from a tankard. He was sitting a respectable distance away, leaning heavily on a table.

"What'd you expect? He's got woke up by a maniac with a knife," Ross replied. He, too, was drinking, and he was leaned in so close to Trott that their heads were nearly touching.

"You'll both of you be zombies soon, if you're not careful."

Rythian started slightly—the couch had gained one further occupant while he had been unconscious, and he hadn't noticed her presence until she'd spoken.

"Don't threaten us with a good time unless you're gonna provide it," Trottimus retorted.

"Yeah, mini, your fuck-buddy might get jealous!" Ross added.

 _"Flux,_ Ross," Lalna corrected tiredly. _"Flux_ buddies."

Nano leaned forward and waved at Rythian, smiling. "Hi, Rythian. Good to see you up and about again. I would've been round when you first woke up, but _someone—"_ she shot a withering glare at Lalna— "didn't tell anybody he was doing it."

Lalna looked injured. "It just sort of _happened,_ all right? I would've said, but there wasn't time!"

Nano shook her head. "Anyways. If you need anything, don't hesitate to say so."

"Sure," he replied. The clutching hands of oncoming tears were working their way up his throat again.

Nilesy, having returned to his place by Rythian's side, leaned against him, just slightly. Rythian returned the gesture, as much as he could with Lalna's arm still draped over him.

"Brought you some water," Nilesy commented, gesturing to the bottle.

Grateful of something to take his mind off of—well, _everything,_ if he was honest—he fumbled with the stopper on the bottle. His fingers were abominably clumsy.

"Here, let me," Lalna offered, reaching for the bottle. Nano slapped his arm gently.

"He's got it, let him be," she scolded.

"I . . . don't think I do," he admitted. Lalna took the bottle from him and uncorked it easily, without even taking his arm from around Rythian's shoulders, then handed it back.

"Sure you'll be back up to full strength soon," he assured Rythian.

Rythian took a sip of the water and immediately spat it back out, shoving the bottle away. Someone took it from his hand.

"What's wrong?" Lomadia asked, halfway out of her seat.

He shook his head. His mouth was burning viciously and his head was spinning. He could feel every gaze in the room prickling against his skin. His bones were starting to buzz.

"Need to—be alone," he croaked, the faintest hum of ender in his voice. He couldn't—not here, not with so many _people,_ he had to fight it down just a little longer, just until all the eyes went away. . . .

"Gotcha," Lalna said, getting to his feet. "C'mon, let's put you somewhere quiet."

Rythian was almost ragdoll-limp as Lalna hoisted him up again—all of his focus was going towards remaining fully constituted in reality. Even so, flakes of violet light were starting to peel off of his skin.

He wasn't sure how far they went, or how much later it was, but eventually Lalna deposited him in a soft bed in a small, dark room.

"All right?" he asked. He must have had his eyes closed, because Rythian couldn't feel him looking.

"Will be," he muttered. His regrown arm was aching fit to burst.

"Right. 'F you need anything, just, y'know, holler."

"I will."

"'Kay. See you soon, Ryth." And he stepped out, closing the door quietly behind him.

Rythian let out the metaphysical breath he'd been holding for several hours, filling the room with violet chips of light, and let his body buzz itself back to silence.

* * *

 

Sjin didn't ordinarily mind sand overmuch; it had its place, could be useful in its way, and was generally unobtrusive so long as you didn't roll in it.

He had seen almost nothing other than sand for the past six hours, and he was very quickly learning to _hate_ it.

It was easier, at least, than thinking about what he _hadn't_ seen.

There had been tall stone walls, half-crumbled. Dunes and sinkholes. Scraps of polyester. Thick gold rings, inset with gemstones and the SipsCo logo.

He shook his head, cursing mildly under his breath as he slogged onto another loosely-consolidated dune. There was just so _much_ sand, it was utterly ridiculous. Certainly, he'd set out from a desert—that was where Sick Bay _was,_ after all—but he'd expected, at some point, to _leave_ said desert.

Especially considering that SipsCo was built in a lightly-forested plain, and had occupied that spot since it had been built.

It had taken a compass, a map, and a lot of red-pen scribbling to find the old factory. All landmarks had vanished. A few animals were still wandering around, looking half-dead of starvation, but there were no corpses. Only sand.

No corpse. Only sand.

Sjin shook his head again, swallowing down the tightness in his throat. Best not to think about it. Best not to think about it _ever again,_ because if he thought about it, well then, he would start thinking about other things, like how easy it would be to lie down in the sand and not get back up, how simply he could break the machine set to clone him should he perish, how little anything mattered now because _he_ was—

"No," he growled to himself. "No, Sjin, you're not going to think about that. Not ever again. It's done. It's over. It—just pretend it . . . never happened. Right. Can't—can't lose something you've never had, right? Right."

Unbidden, tears slipped down his cheeks. He didn't bother to wipe them away.

"Don't cry," he admonished feebly. "Wasn't real. No crying over . . . over fiction. Never happened. Can't lose what you've never had. Go home. Go _home."_

And he repeated these things to himself, over and over, even as sobs began to wrack his body, even as his knees began to go weak underneath him; and every piece of his heart that fell from the shattered ruin, he stuffed down into a little black box, until shards stopped breaking off, until he could seal the box tightly and bury it somewhere deep inside of him.

Bury it under miles and miles and _miles_ of pale, lifeless sand.


	11. Fluiducts

"I just don't _like_ it, is all I'm saying," Nilesy explained, pivoting on his toes to march back down the same path he'd been treading for the past ten minutes. "I'm not _accusing_ him of anything, I just—"

"Don't like it, so you've said," Lomadia finished for him. She had her feet propped up on one of the tables and was mending a tear in her owl-styled leather cap. "About fifty times, at this point."

"Aren't you at least a _bit_ put off by it? It doesn't make _sense!"_

"I am," she answered calmly, "and it doesn't. If you're so concerned, why don't you ask him?"

"I—no, I really can't."

"Why not?"

"I don't _know,_ it just worries me. _He_ worries me. He's been acting odd for months now. And he's _still_ acting odd. Odder, even, now that Rythian's back. I don't _like_ it."

"Is it possible you're just jealous?"

"Is it— _no,_ Lom, it _isn't!_ That's got nothing to do with this!"

"So you _are_ jealous," she concluded, smirking.

 _"Everyone's_ jealous of Lalna, that's not the _point."_

"Then what _is_ the point? Enlighten me."

"It's just—why would Zoey take off like that? Especially when they were so close to waking up Rythian? You'd think she could've stuck around for one more day. I mean, what could possibly be so important that she'd leave, just like that?"

Lomadia's brow furrowed, and she frowned. "What're you suggesting?"

"Just that, maybe, we don't know the whole story. That something odd is going on here. I'm not saying Lalna's _lied_ about any of it, I don't think he'd do that, just maybe—maybe he knows more than he's saying. Or maybe even _he_ doesn't know the full story, I don't know! He was awfully vague about it."

"He also hadn't slept in four days," Lomadia pointed out, "but I see your point."

"And not to mention no one's seen Alsmiffy in _days."_

"You think maybe the two of them went off together?"

"What? No, that was—unrelated. I'm _worried,_ it's a new feeling for me, I'm not handling it well!"

Lomadia pursed her lips, then sighed. "Right. I'll talk to Nano and see if she knows anything. Maybe you can try to pry Rythian off of Lalna for a few minutes and talk to _him_ about it. He might know more than we do."

"If he does, he hasn't been saying so."

"Would you expect him to?"

Nilesy sighed, hanging his head. "No, not really."

"Take Ravs with you, he's good at getting people talking."

"He's good at getting people drunk," Nilesy pointed out.

"That's what I said, yeah." She set her cap down and looked up at Nilesy. "I do agree with you, for the record. Something funny _is_ going on. And I _don't_ like it."

"Lom?"

"Yeah?"

"Is this . . . are we uncovering a conspiracy? Are we like . . . spies?"

The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "Yeah, something like that."

"We should have gadgets, then. Really _cool_ gadgets."

"You've already got all that force-stuff."

"Yeah, but that's not _spy_ stuff."

She got to her feet and pulled her owl-cap on. "We'll work on it."

"Right. So I'll—I'll go get Ravs." He bit his lip, glancing away. "D'you think you could, maybe, check in? After, say, an hour? And if I don't answer, send out a search-party?"

She raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. "Do you think something's going to happen to you?"

He shrugged. "Not _really,_ but . . . I don't want to take chances."

"All right. Still got your com?"

Nodding, he touched a finger to his left ear and replied, "Yep. Still working fine."

"Good. I'll talk to you in an hour." She clapped him on the shoulder as she walked past, and then strode from the room. Nilesy sagged once she had gone.

"Where did it all go so wrong?" he wondered under his breath, and headed off to acquire Ravs.

* * *

 

"Erm, Ravs? D'you have a minute?"

The bartender looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot and his whole face was the sort of red that was usually reserved for his nose.

"V'got loads o' things," he slurred. "Minute's some of 'em."

"Are you drunk?"

"No, 'm in slow-motion. The hell d'you think."

Nilesy caught himself wringing his hands and stuffed the offending appendages into his pockets.

"Can I ask how come?"

"'Cause fuck off, tha's why."

"Rrrright. Okay. Erm, d'you think you could help me with something?"

"No, bu' I'll gi'e it m'best."

"I . . . need to talk to Rythian. Alone."

Ravs snorted. "Good luck."

"Well, I was hoping you could help. Y'know, with . . . the hard part."

"Best I can do for you 's get 'em both completely off their tits."

"That . . . would actually probably be helpful, yeah."

One of Ravs's eyes narrowed. "Y'sure you want Lalna roarin' drunk? 'Specially if you're tryna take Ryth'en off him?"

Taken aback, Nilesy stammered, "N-no, well, I mean, that's not—you're _awfully_ forward-thinking for someone who's very drunk."

"'S my natural state, y'learn to deal wi' it." Ravs sat up, peeling his face off the bar. "Bring 'em to me and I'll sort 'em. But just so y'know, this is a right _stupid_ plan, an' I hope whatever it is you're tryna get from Ryth'en is worth it."

Nilesy smiled, nervously. "Thanks, Ravs. You're a pal."

"I'm soused," Ravs corrected, and ducked under the bar to the sound of clanking glasses.

* * *

 

There was a quiet, but firm, knock at the door.

"Come in!" Nano called, not taking her eyes off her work.

"Nano? Have you got a minute?"

"Sure, Lomadia, come on in."

There was the sound of the door closing softly.

"Didn't know you were into gardening."

"I dabble. This particular one is really useful for summoning familiars."

"Ah, witchy-stuff."

Nano glanced over her shoulder. "Yeah, exactly. D'you do much with this sort of thing?"

She shrugged. "Some. Not so much anymore. Pretty sure it's all gone to sand at this point."

"Mm," Nano agreed. "Well, if you ever want to get back into it, you're welcome to fool about with this lot, provided you don't blow up _too_ much of the furniture."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

Nano set down her pruning shears and turned to face Lomadia, leaning against the dirt-speckled counter behind her. "So. What can I do for you?"

The look on Lomadia's face indicated that whatever it was, it was not good news.

"It's about Zoey," she stated.

"You've heard something?" She didn't quite manage to keep the hope out of her voice.

"No, I haven't. I was hoping maybe you had."

"No, sorry. Nothing since she left, anyway."

"Yeah, about that," Lomadia said, folding her arms and cocking a hip out to the side. "Why _did_ she take off in such a hurry?"

Nano shrugged. "Something important came up and she had to go right away. Lalna didn't say what it was that came up."

"So you didn't talk to her?"

"Not between when whatever-it-was came up and when she left, no. You'd have to ask Lalna about that. Or just wait until she gets back and ask her, even Lalna might not know." She frowned. "You don't think she'll be gone _too_ much longer?"

"I hope not. You've heard Sjin's planning a move?"

Nano sighed, rolling her eyes. "I've heard almost nothing else for three days. _Ooh, we'll go somewhere nice and start over, somewhere with trees! We'll build a farm and do naughty things with the Hats, oohoohoo!_ And if you ask him what's wrong with _this_ base, he giggles like a madman and just walks away. It's really weird."

"Yep, hit that nail on the head. Still, can't say I don't miss trees. Not terribly fond of sand, either."

"Oh, I'm not saying I'm not _going._ I'm definitely _going._ I just wish he'd shut up about it."

"Yeah," Lomadia agreed.

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence.

"If you . . . if you _do_ hear anything about Zoey," Nano said at last, "you will let me know, won't you?"

"Yeah, of course. And if you—"

"Yeah, I will. And, Lom? If there's . . . anything you need, ever. You know you can always ask me, right?"

"Thanks, Nano. Same goes for you."

"Thanks."

Another stretched silence.

"I should probably be getting on," Lomadia stated. "Things to do. Y'know."

"Yeah, same. Erm, take care, I suppose."

"Yeah, you too." She hesitated, only for a moment, then walked out of the room. Nano stared at the closed door for a long moment, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Well, I don't like _this_ at all," she muttered, and turned back to her table-top garden.

* * *

 

By the fifth drink—or possibly the sixth—Rythian was beginning to realize that Ravs was purposefully trying to get him absolutely _obliterated._ Lalna didn't seem to mind. He was pushing the _more drinks_ agenda almost as hard as Ravs. Nilesy was wearing his 'carefully casual' expression, which was a dead giveaway that he was up to something.

Not that Rythian was in much of a state to _mind;_ Lalna was talking about a hilariously disastrous foray into space, and Rythian had remembered how to laugh, and generally things were pretty fantastic, so long as he didn't think for too long about anything.

Lalna was making that particular task easy for him by keeping his fingertips gently curled against Rythian's hip. It was very distracting.

"All _three_ of you?" Nilesy asked, incredulous.

"How d'you mess up _that_ badly?" Ravs wondered.

"One word: Honeydew," Lalna answered. "I'm not saying he's a menace, but I _am_ saying that he has a _gift._ He has a _talent_ for messing things up. It's incredible, really. It's like his own personal . . . _fuck-up_ field. I wanted to study him, but Xephos wouldn't let me."

"Since when has that ever stopped you?" Rythian inquired.

"It's _Xephos,_ all right? Master clones, all that. He don't make a big deal of it, but if he puts his foot down, you don't go pickin' it back up." Lalna butted his head against Rythian's shoulder. "Finish your drink."

 _"You_ finish your drink," Rythian shot back, but he did take a long swig of his ale.

"I ever tell you I brought you a Mars-rock?" Lalna inquired, setting his emptied tankard down on the table. Ravs quietly replaced it with a full one.

"You're full of shit," Rythian replied.

"No, I really did! Haven't got it on me, though."

"Of course not."

"But I did bring one back!"

"I'm sure you did. For science purposes."

Lalna looked injured. "Yeah, but I'm done doing science on it, so you can have it now!"

"I'm flattered," he intoned.

"Finish your drink," Lalna instructed, pouting.

Rythian, defiantly, gulped down the last of his ale. "Happy?" he inquired.

"Yeah, pretty happy."

Slowly, Ravs slid a full mug over to Rythian and pulled the empty one away.

"But this's the last one for the night," he warned.

"Oh, pfuh," Lalna scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "He can have as many as he wants."

"Well, I mean," Nilesy put in, "wouldn't want him getting sick."

"I'm _right here,"_ Rythian pointed out.

"Shush, we know," Lalna told him, then leaned over and kissed his neck. The world dissolved in a wash of pinkish warmth and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep anyone from seeing how they had rolled back in his head. His breath caught in his throat and a little noise slipped past his lips—which he sincerely hoped no one had heard.

Lalna must have noticed at least one of these things, because he kissed Rythian's neck again, softly, lingering. Rythian was fairly certain he was going to die again right then and there, or else his skin would start peeling off like old paint to let out the fresh heat that was glowing just underneath it.

How long had it been since—?

There was a yelp, and Rythian's eyes snapped open. Nilesy had spilled his drink all over himself, and was looking down at his ale-soaked clothes with the indignant despair of a wet cat. Rythian laughed, then swiftly clapped a hand over his mouth.

"'S not funny," Nilesy grumbled. "Jerk."

"Sorry, no, I know, I'm sorry," Rythian gasped, fighting down giggles.

"Would you at least come with me while I get changed? I need someone to hold Mr. Cat or else he'll try to drink my shirt."

Rythian stifled another laugh, and started to get to his feet. Lalna's hand tightened against his hip.

"I'll come, too," he said, making as if to rise. Rythian waved him off.

"Don't, it's fine. I think I can handle a _cat_ on my own."

Lalna chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then settled back into his seat, folding his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, all right. Have fun, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Lalna, I wouldn't even do anything you _would_ do," Rythian replied, grinning. He took a moment to find his equilibrium, then walked to Nilesy's side. "Remind me again where your room is?"

"'S this way," Nilesy said, cocking a thumb over his shoulder. "C'mon, I'll take you."

Rythian saluted. "Yessir," he acknowledged, and followed—slightly unsteadily—after Nilesy.

Once they were out of the bar room, Nilesy stated, "So, you're, ehm, you seem well."

Rythian shrugged. "I've been worse," he admitted. _"You're_ up to something."

"What? No, I—what could I be—? No, no, I'm not _up to_ anything."

"You have that _look._ What're you plotting?"

"I'm not—okay, well, so maybe I sort of wanted to, y'know, pry you off of Lalna for a while—"

 _"Pry?_ That's a funny word to use."

"Yeah, okay, not that funny, honestly. Fine, let's just say I wanted to talk to you without having to talk to Lalna."

Rythian narrowed his eyes, regarding Nilesy with suspicion. "You're not drunk," he accused.

"Nnnno, no, I'm not."

"And I am."

"Yes, that you are."

"Would you like to explain to me why it is you're dragging me off alone, our states of sobriety being what they are?" Not that he really _minded_ much; Nilesy was . . . sweet. He was soft—his whole person and personality were smoothly rounded at the edges. And he was cuddly, and that was nice, and it _had_ been a long time. . . .

"Ah, well, the thing is," Nilesy began, pausing his steps to better fiddle with his fingers, "I, ehm, wanted to ask you something."

Rythian leaned a shoulder against the wall and cocked an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"I—I wanted to ask if . . . maybe, you know, just on an off-chance . . . if you knew where, ehm, where Zoey was."

The name hit him like a hammer-blow, knocking his breath out and nearly buckling his knees out from under him. The invisible hand in his chest reached up and clenched around his throat again, and the grief boiled out of its holding tank, all acid and ice. Tears were already stinging at his eyes, and he could feel the sweet euphoria of alcohol quickly souring into something black and tarry.

"I—don't . . . want to talk—about . . . her," he gasped, his tongue like wet cotton in his mouth. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "I don't . . . I can't. . . ."

"Oh, oh God, no, i-it's okay, you don't have to! I'm sorry, Rythian, please don't—don't. You're—it's okay, it's fine, don't . . . don't worry about it. Oh, God, I'm sorry, please don't . . . cry."

Rythian sank to the floor, biting back sobs as he folded in on himself.

"I don't—ever—not ever again. . . ." he muttered.

Nilesy sat down next to him and pressed two knuckles to his shoulder, and Rythian fell apart completely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiddies, if anyone ever treats you the way Lalna treats Rythian, dump their ass and acquire a restraining order.


	12. Risky Business

There was static on the other end of the line when Lomadia activated her com.

"Nilesy? You there?"

 _"Oh, cripes. Wait—uh, wait here, okay? Just a second. I'll be right back. No no, I'm not going anywhere, don't worry, I'll be right over there."_ The sound of shuffling footsteps. _"Lom? Hi, I'm, ehm, sort of in the middle of something."_

"Apparently. Are you all right?"

_"Yeah, no, yeah, I'm fine. Just—ehm, actually, if you could, maybe, go over to the bar room and make sure Lalna's not, you know, killing anyone, that'd be grand."_

"Right. You're with Rythian?"

_"Yeah, he's, ehm, not doing too fantastically, if I'm honest. Look, just—I'll see you soonish, right? But I'm okay."_

"All right, if you're sure." She paused, chewing her lip. "Take care of yourself, Nilesy."

_"I will. You too. See you in a bit, m'dear."_

The warm flush that bloomed from her heart at those words tongue-tied her for just a moment too long, and Nilesy's com cut off before she could reply. She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Right. Lalna."

After a moment's consideration, she headed for Nano's room, her steps hurried. She knocked briskly and called, "Nano? You in there?"

"Yeah, come in!"

Lomadia stepped inside, leaving the door open behind her. "Hi. I was wondering if you could spare a couple minutes to help me collect Lalna."

Nano frowned, wrist-deep in some sort of cauldron. "Yeah, I suppose. Where're we collecting him from? And how come?"

"Bar room. Nilesy's taken Rythian off of him."

Her face went grave. "Oh," she said. "Yeah, give me just a sec." She pulled her hands out of the cauldron—they were covered in some sort of purplish goop—and quickly dunked them in a basin of water. Wiping her hands on her top, she crossed to the doorway. Lomadia stepped out into the hall, holding the door for her.

"I appreciate this," Lomadia mentioned as they headed for the bar room.

"It's no trouble. I understand he can be a bit intimidating at times."

She snorted. "Yeah, that's putting it lightly."

"Has he been drinking?"

"Dunno. Most likely."

"Hm. Okay, well. I'll handle it."

"Thanks."

"Mm-hm. I'm always happy to help."

The bar room, when they arrived, was silent as the grave. Ravs was standing at the bar, pretending to polish a glass. Lalna was sitting on a sofa with his back to the door, his shoulders tense, his head lowered at a vulturish angle. His arms were resting on the back of the couch, and his hand was clenched white-knuckled on the handle of his mug.

Nano cleared her throat and folded her arms, cocking one hip out to the side.

"Lalna, have you been drinking without me?" she demanded.

Lalna jumped like he'd been shot. He twisted around to look at the door, his face quickly softening into mildly-injured contrition.

"How was I s'posed to know you wanted to?" he asked, slurring considerably. "Hiya, Lom." He waved.

"Hi," she replied. Unease was prickling at the back of her neck, and she let her hand rest on the small billy-stick she kept on her at all times. Lalna was easily twice her size, probably three times Nano's, and the snap-transitions of his moods were unpredictable at best.

"You could have _asked,_ silly," Nano responded to him, crossing to the couch and draping her arms over his shoulders. She kissed his cheek and he blushed lobster-red. "How many've you had, anyway?"

"Lots," he answered. His eyes strayed back to Lomadia, and there was a disconcerting sharpness in his gaze. "Where's Nilesy?"

"How should I know?"

"He's your boyfriend, you should know," Lalna shot back.

Lomadia felt heat rising under her collar. "He's _not,"_ she retorted, "and even if he were, it's still not my job to know where he is all the time."

Lalna took a breath to reply, but Nano kissed his cheek again and he seemed to lose whatever words he'd had queued up on his tongue.

"Bet I could catch up with you, if you want," she asserted. "Been a long time since we've gotten drunk together."

"I—well, yeah, I mean—that's . . . that sounds great, but—"

"But _what?"_ Nano insisted, grinning.

"But Rythian," he whined. His eyes slid back to Lomadia, and his hand tightened on his mug. She curled her fingers on the billy-stick, glad of the fifteen feet of space between her and him.

"Oh, Rythian's _fine,"_ Nano told him. "He's a big boy, he can take care of himself."

"He left with Nilesy," Lalna pointed out.

"So?"

"So I bet Nilesy's taking _fantastic_ care of him," he said darkly. His eyes were fixed on Lomadia's face.

"Don't be rude," Nano admonished. She shot a warning glance over her shoulder at Lomadia, who was having to work hard to keep her teeth from clenching. A snarl was tugging at her lip.

"I'm not," Lalna objected. "I'm just pointing out the facts."

"And why do _you_ care?" Lomadia snapped. "It's none of your business what Rythian does in his spare time."

"It _is_ my business," Lalna snarled, shoving himself to his feet. Nano stepped back and Lomadia found herself sinking into a fighting stance.

"Sit down, lad," Ravs warned. The glass had gone from his hands, replaced with what appeared to be a steel crossbow. "No trouble in my bar."

"I'm not causing trouble," Lalna said, "and this isn't your bar." His voice was low and calm and worryingly _sober._

"Not what it looks like from where I'm standing," Ravs told him.

"Oy, all right, Lalna, that's enough," Nano stated, interposing herself between Lalna and Lomadia.

"Enough of what?" he inquired, his head tilting slightly to the side. "Because I've had just about enough of people telling me what is and isn't my business."

"Then maybe you should learn the difference between your business and everyone else's," Lomadia shot.

"Lom, _stop it,"_ Nano barked. "If you can't be civil, then leave. Lalna, if you're _that_ concerned for Rythian's well-being, we'll go find him. All right?"

Lalna stood statue-still for the space of three deep, tense breaths, then sagged into himself, swaying slightly and turning soft eyes on Nano.

"Yeah, all right," he said, sounding mollified.

Gingerly, Nano reached out and took his hand. "Okay. Let's do that. C'mon." She towed him off, and he floated along behind her like a happy, drunken blimp.

Lomadia looked at Ravs, and Ravs looked back at her.

"Please," she said, "don't ever get him drunk again."

"Lass," he replied, "I'll be happy if I never _see_ him again."

* * *

 

When the door to the Hats' room creaked open at half-past midnight, the very last person Trottimus had expected to see was standing behind it.

"Where in the _hell_ have you _been?"_ he demanded, leaping out of his chair and storming to the door. "We thought you were _dead!"_

Alsmiffy blinked down at Trott, leaning back from the flipper-finger prodding into his chest.

"Er," he said, but Ross was upon him before he could get another word in edgewise.

"Thought you'd vanished off the face of the earth, mate," the architect stated, scowling. "Thought you'd fallen down a ravine or some shit."

"Could've at least told someone you were leaving," Trott added, "instead of making us _worry_ for a week."

"Yeah, like, what was so damn important you had to run off without a word?"

"I—"

"Probably off suckin' his own knob," Trottimus postulated.

"Ooh, lost track of time, did he? Not surprised, I'd—"

"I was visiting my _family,_ all right?" Smiffy spat, perhaps more forcefully than was warranted.

Trott and Ross shared a glance.

"You've got a family, mate?"

"Didn't know he had a family."

"Are they slimes? Ross, d'you think his mum's a slime?"

"Dunno, mate. Oy Smiffy, is your mum a slime? Is she good-lookin'?"

"Have you got a sister?"

"Look, stop it, the both of you," Alsmiffy snapped. "I went and visited my family, now I'm back. Can we just— _stop_ talking about it." He swallowed and looked away. "Please."

Trott blinked up at him in stunned silence for a moment. "Y-yeah, all right, mate, no worries."

Alsmiffy sniffed and shouldered past Trott. "I'll be in my lab, 'f you need me."

"Yeah, okay," Trott answered faintly.

"Listen, Smiff, I'm—I'm sorry, mate," Ross began, but Alsmiffy cut him off.

"Just—don't." And he stalked away down the hall.

"Right," Ross muttered, an uncommon look of injury on his face. "I . . . won't, then."

"He'll be all right, mate," Trottimus reassured him. "C'mon. We should probably tell everyone else he's back."

"Y-yeah, yeah. Right." Ross cleared his throat and straightened his tie. "Yeah. Let's . . . do that."

* * *

 

Ridge, in general, tended to stay out of things that were liable to get him killed. He had gotten quite good at it, over the years; surviving multiple nuclear apocalypses tended to instill a strong sense of when things were starting to go tits-up. Being nigh-unkillable helped, too, as did the popular perception that he was _completely_ unkillable.

He could, he supposed, have intervened when the sand had come, could possibly have evacuated Parvis and Strife and the others before they died—and they had been _nasty_ deaths, particularly since Strife had taken to drinking Parv's blood to save himself from dehydration—but there was something about the sand that Ridge didn't like, something that prickled uncomfortably at the back of his neck and curled cold fingers around the base of his spine. So he'd kept his distance and watched them all starve—all except for Parvis, of course, who had bled out long before full starvation set in, and whose bones Strife had continued to chew on until the day he died—and he'd consoled himself with the facts that, first of all, he'd had them all kill each other multiple times in the past, and that he, Ridge himself, was not dead.

Ridge leaned back in the air, crossing his legs at the knees, and sighed. What was left of Kirin was slowly disintegrating in the sand below, and he didn't particularly want to watch anymore. Anything that could kill Kirin could kill Ridge, and it wasn't a notion he was fond of. They'd been coolly distant, not willing to risk murdering one another or any of the mortals under their dubious care in a fit of pique.

But Ridge had _felt_ Kirin die, felt his quiet blue-green life snap out of existence like a candle being blown out.

And it had scared him.

So he had come here, where Kirin's stronghold—or whatever he had in place of a stronghold—should have been, finding only desert and a corpse slowly melting away into trickles of fine sand, and no sign of what had killed him or how.

Ridge sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The sand had been spreading alarmingly fast, a viral plague sweeping across the landscape and devouring everything in its path, radiating outward from the incursion point at YogLabs.

"Something has to be done," he muttered under his breath, then sighed again. "And as usual, I'm going to have to do it myself."

It wasn't so much that he _cared_ about the surviving mortals. It was just that things would be so horribly _boring_ if they all died.

He probably wasn't going to tell Lying about it, though. Eventually, perhaps, but if they happened to go out the same way as Kirin, well. He wouldn't be too broken up about it.

"And here I was, thinking we weren't going to start killing each other."

It was difficult to _jump_ properly when floating fifty feet off the ground, so Ridge only twitched violently at the sudden vocal intrusion into the sandy silence.

"We weren't," Ridge replied, leaning his chin on his hand and looking down at Lying, who stood ankle-deep in the sand next to Kirin's empty robes, "and we didn't."

Lying cocked their head to the side. "And yet, he's dead. And I have to wonder why."

"Maybe he fell down the stairs," Ridge suggested dryly. "What, are you disappointed?"

"Somewhat, yes," Lying answered. "I don't suppose you'd consider taking his place?"

"I didn't think you'd even give me a choice."

They shrugged. "Never let it be said I'm not courteous." Their smile flashed across their face like lightning and was gone.

"Uh-huh. Keep in mind that if you come within thirty feet of me, I will kill you."

"I doubt that. I really do doubt that. You like games, don't you, Ridge? I seem to recall you like games."

"I seem to recall you like living," Ridge intoned, examining his fingernails.

"So did Kirin."

"I told you, I didn't kill him."

"I never said I didn't believe you. I believe you. I'm just wondering, in my silly little way, what you're doing here."

"I could ask the same of you."

"But you didn't," Lying pointed out. Again, the lightning-smile flickered across their face. "It's not as though it costs you anything to answer."

"No," Ridge admitted, "but I'm not going to anyway."

 _"Games,_ Ridge, it's always _games_ with you," Lying accused, then giggled. Ridge floated slightly higher. "You know I'm fond of games. But I don't think now is the time for them, hm?"

Ridge sighed and rolled his eyes, moving to stand in the air instead of reclining on it.

"Fine. I think the sand killed him." He grinned. "You know. That sand you're standing in."

This time, when Lying smiled, the expression didn't vanish. Ridge wished it would.

"That's very interesting," they stated. "Very interesting, Ridge. Especially since it isn't killing me, is it."

"I had hopes," Ridge admitted.

Lying's smile widened. "Are you _afraid,_ Ridge?"

"What? No."

"Ah, well. Let me know when you're afraid. I would _hate_ to miss it."

"I will _unmake_ you," Ridge spat, fists clenching.

Lying giggled again. "But then you'll be all _alone._ And _that,_ hm. That's the scariest thing of all, isn't it."

"Get out."

Laughing, they vanished, leaving the echoes of their mirth ringing in his ears.

"Christ," Ridge grumbled, and drifted off towards home.

 


	13. Linchpin

"Hiya, Nilesy."

Nilesy looked up and brightened instantly. "Lom! Hi, I ehm—I didn't hear you come in."

She ruffled his hair and dropped onto his couch next to him. "I'm very sneaky."

"Of course. We  _ are _ secret agents, after all, gadgets or no. We've still got to make those."

"Mm." She shifted slightly, folding her hands in her lap, and Nilesy scooted over to give her a little more room. "How'd things go with Rythian?"

He sighed, shrugging. "Not great, if I'm honest."

"Not great, how?"

_ "Well, _ he sort of . . . broke down. At the first mention of Zoey. He said he didn't want to talk about it."

"Did he say why?"

"Didn't say much else at all. I really doubt he ever will."

Mr. Cat chose that moment to hoist his considerable tabby bulk onto the sofa, settling almost immediately in Lomadia's lap and digging in his claws.

"No—oh, for God's  _ sake," _ Lomadia sighed, leaning back and apparently resigning herself to her fate. Nilesy laughed.

"No, I'm sorry, I'm afraid he likes you. There's no escaping the love of a cat."

"I'm pretty sure this doesn't count as love," Lomadia grumbled.

"You've never owned a cat," Nilesy pointed out. "Ehm, so. I assume things went okay with Lalna?"

"Ugh. Hardly. But no one's died, so I suppose it's fine. I honestly don't see why Nano puts up with him."

"I've gathered he's not usually like this."

"Yeah, well I'd have thrown him out  _ ages _ ago, if it were up to me. I'm considering not making the move to the new base at all, seeing as he's going."

"Can't fault you there. Ehm, speaking of which." He fidgeted. "I was sort of . . . planning on staying, myself. I think Ravs is, too—at least, he mentioned something about it. Which makes sense, y'know, because we'll need people to watch over the clones until the new place is all set up."

Lomadia regarded him closely. He flushed slightly.

"Sounds like a plan to me," she said. "If you need any help getting things in running order, I could stay and help out."

"Would you?" Nilesy squeaked, then cleared his throat. "Ahem. I mean, yeah, that—that would be fantastic, really."

She smiled as though she were fighting the expression, and eventually turned her head away. "All right, then. Although I expect we'll catch up with the others to find Nano's thoroughly subjugated them all and declared herself queen."

"Oh, I've no doubt. Are you declaring yourself queen of Sick Bay, then? I hope there won't be another war."

"Goodness, no. I'd never be a queen. Supreme Overlord, more like."

"Ah, yes, of course. I don't suppose you'd have room in your totalitarian government for a lowly pool-boy?"

"No, I don't think so. Though I might need a right-hand man. Oh, and I'll need to bleach your cat. No self-respecting Overlord has a tabby."

"You'll have to ask Mr. Cat about that. I think he would take exception to being white. He doesn't even  _ like _ mayonnaise."

"Silly me, of course he doesn't. Fine, I'll just make it illegal to make fun of the Supreme Overlord. Or cats."

"A brilliant plan, my lady!"

"You'll make a grand right-hand man, Nilesy. And that's  _ my Supreme Overlord _ to you."

He grinned at her. "Of course. Apologies, my Supreme Overlord."

Lomadia hesitated, biting her lip, then said, almost shyly, "I'll also accept  _ my dear." _

Heart fluttering in his chest, Nilesy answered, "Of course, my dear."

And he picked up one of her hands, refusing to think about his actions, and lightly kissed her knuckles.

She curled her fingers around his, and Nilesy was certain he'd never been happier in his life.

* * *

 

"Benj? Oy, Benji! You down here?"

Strippin's voice echoed off the walls. He couldn't be sure how long ago he'd lost Benji—time was nearly immeasurable in this mine—but he was fairly certain he'd been looking for over an hour.

The plan had been simple—the plan was always simple. It was harder for a simple plan to go horrendously, violently wrong. Head into the mine, dig out a few well-needed supplies for the upcoming trip to Very Far Away, get back as soon as possible. Abort mission on the spot if anything looked dodgy. Simple.

It was a pity that so few of their plans remained simple.

The trouble had started, really, with the spiders. Strippin had never been a fan of spiders, especially not ones larger than an inch or so across, so when ones the size of his hand—and larger—had begun crawling out of cracks in the walls, he'd declared the mission  _ excessively dodgy _ on the spot and taken off running, as had Benji. This would have been all well and good, save for the fact that they had run in completely different directions. Then there had been a lot of cursing, a lot of stumbling in darkness, and an  _ awful _ lot of spiders—and now Strippin was alone, covered in cobwebs, and beginning to move from annoyance to outright dread.

_ "Benji!" _ he called again, sharper. The torch in his hand flickered uneasily. "I swear to God, if you've died, I'll kill you."

"Strippin?" The voice was faint, but it was certainly there—more than an echo, and with vague directionality. Strippin's heart leapt in his chest.

A few more volleys of sound, and they had found each other. Benji was scraped and bruised, trailing vapor-wisps of web from every conceivable surface, but otherwise seemed unharmed.

Strippin wedged the torch into a crack in the wall and grabbed Benji's shoulders, checking him over.

"You didn't get bit, did you? Swear to God, those bastards looked like they'd take your whole hand off, and that's even  _ assuming _ they're not venomous, which knowing our luck, they probably were."

"I didn't get bit," Benji intoned, while Strippin continued to relentlessly mother him.

"You're sure? Looking awful pale there, Benj."

"I've—found something, Strippin."

Strippin looked up, frowning. "You all right?"

"I . . . you need to see this." His voice was shaking. His  _ everything _ was shaking.

"Mate, what's wrong? What've you found?"

Benji just shook his head. "I can't—you need to see it."

After a moment spent grinding his teeth, Strippin nodded sharply. "All right. And then we're getting the hell out of here."

Wordlessly, Benji turned and shuffled off into the smothering darkness. Strippin yanked his torch out of the wall and followed close behind.

Benji led him far into the cave system, through tunnels littered with the corpses of huge spiders, down deep into the narrow dark where raw ore veins and native gems sparkled and gleamed in the inconstant light of the passing torch. Finally, down near the end of a long and winding tunnel, Benji stopped and pointed a shaking finger.

"There," he croaked.

Strippin squinted, raising the torch higher. Something green and formless lay still on the ground, pressed against the craggy far wall. Glints of metal, hints of red cloth and worn leather could be seen wrapped around the figure. The floor of the tunnel was smeared with something dark and somewhat crunchy. Strippin's brow furrowed.

"Is that . . . isn't that Zoey's dinosaur?"

"I think so," Benji answered.

"D'you think it's dead?"

"Dunno."

"Christ. All right, stay here and watch my back."

"Wait,  _ careful, _ Strippin!"

But Strippin had already started forward, placing each foot with extreme care.

"Tee?" he called. "Oy, Tee, it's Strippin and Benji. We're—ah, friends of Zoey's."

"I wouldn't say  _ friends," _ Benji pointed out.

"Shut  _ up, _ Benj," Strippin shot over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the dinosaur. He took another step forward and nearly dropped his torch in alarm when the light glinted suddenly off of a round, black eye. There was a moment of breathless silence, then Strippin stepped forward again.

"Is he. . . ?" Benji began, tremulous.

Strippin sighed, sagging somewhat as the nervous tension went out of his limbs. "I think he's dead, Benj. He ain't breathing."

Up close, it was easier to see that the crusted grime underfoot was old, dried blood, streaked along the floor and pooled underneath Tee's body. The dinosaur had died curled in on himself, clutching his bow to his chest so hard his claws had splintered the wood. His corpse was half caved-in, and up close, the smell of decay was unmistakeable.

Benji stepped up to Strippin's side, shaking his head sadly. "Poor thing. What d'you figure did him?"

"Dunno, mate. Can't tell." He paused, chewing his lip. "D'you think we should, y'know, bury him?"

"Yeah," Benji said slowly, "don't see there's much else we can do. Oh, God, somebody's gonna have to tell Rythian."

"Jesus, don't even wanna  _ think  _ about that." The blood drained from his face as a horrible thought occurred to him. "Benj, you don't think—you don't think  _ Zoey's _ down here, too?"

Benji blanched again, rubbing his mouth and shaking his head. "I hope not. I really hope not." He hesitated. "Should we . . . should we look?"

"Mate, if we don't, Rythian will. Dunno about you, but if she  _ is, _ y'know, down here . . . I don't want Rythian to be the one to find her."

"Yeah, but I don't wanna find her, either."

"Then we'll just fuckin' hope she ain't down here, won't we. C'mon. We'll bury this poor sod first, then have a look round for Zoey."

Benji nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Yeah, all right. Then I guess we—we go home and, y'know, tell Rythian?"

Strippin sighed. "Ain't much else we can do, Benj," he said, and set to work chipping rocks from the walls.

* * *

 

Rythian, hungover as he was, was not pleased about the knock on his door, especially since this was his third stomach-churning, head-bursting hangover this week. He tried not to resent the hangovers—they were honestly the only thing keeping him from getting blackout-drunk every night.

Tugging his face-mask on, he tottered to the door and pulled it open a crack, glaring out at the intruders.

"What?" he snapped.

Strippin and Benji glanced at each other, then Strippin stepped forward slightly, clearing his throat. He was turning his cap in his hands, worrying the seams with coal-stained fingers.

"Um, there ain't any easy way to say this, so . . . I ain't gonna try." He took a deep breath. "Tee . . . Tee's dead, mate."

Rythian blinked at him. That didn't make any sense, he'd seen Tee . . . he'd seen Tee—when  _ had _ he last seen Tee? It couldn't have been more than a week ago—no, maybe two weeks. Certainly not more than three. But Tee couldn't be  _ dead, _ he was just out sniping, or guarding, or whatever it was he did when he wasn't tagging along with Rythian or Z—

"When?" he croaked. His head was spinning. He was going to throw up.

Another quick glance between the brothers.

"A while ago," Strippin answered. "Dunno how long, but . . . 's been a while."

A while?  _ A while? _ What did that even mean? How could Tee have been gone for  _ a while _ and Rythian hadn't even  _ noticed? _

"Where is he?" Rythian asked. His voice had almost failed him and his knees felt like they were going to give way.

"I don't think you want to see—" Strippin began, but Rythian cut him off.

_ "Where?" _ he snarled. Tears were pricking at his eyes and he could barely breathe past the lump in his throat.

Strippin looked back at Benji, who shrugged helplessly. Strippin sighed.

"Not far from here. We'll . . . show you."

Rythian closed the door in his face and staggered back into the room, reeling. His shirt had gone somewhere, but he managed to dig up his cloak from amongst the mess on his floor. His fingers were shakingly clumsy as he attempted to fasten the buttons. He didn't bother to put on shoes before lurching out into the hallway.

Benji looked him over, his face grave. "You—I mean, are you  _ sure _ you want—"

He stopped talking when Rythian looked at him, only bowed his head and gestured for Strippin to lead on.

It was late afternoon, tending on towards evening, and the air was already starting to grow colder. Rythian held his cloak closed around him, but it didn't stop the chill in his bones. If Tee was dead—and Tee  _ couldn't _ be dead—but if he was—then it was Rythian's fault. Tee was his friend, who had looked after him even when things were at their worst, and Rythian had just  _ forgotten _ about him. And if he had been there—if he'd been paying attention instead of drowning himself in ale and misery—then Tee wouldn't be—

Well, he  _ wasn't _ dead. It had to be a mistake. Tee was probably with Z—with  _ her, _ just like the last time Rythian had driven them off, and they were both  _ fine. _

By the time they got to the cave proper, Rythian's feet were bleeding and his head was spinning and throbbing so badly that he had to sit down. He hadn't wanted to, but after he nearly collapsed tripping over his own feet—and Benji had caught him—the brothers had made him sit until they determined he could see straight.

Then it was down and down and down, into darkness so thick it made his skin prickle and shiver with memories of the Void, made his eyes glow so brightly he could scarcely see. Strippin reached out to touch him once, and at the first brush of fingers against his cloak he'd snapped out of reality for an instant before reappearing three feet away with his sleeve caught in the cave wall.

They didn't try to touch him again after that.

After uncounted minutes, they finally came to a short corridor, lit with a single torch propped up between two rocks. The torch had almost burned itself out, but still gave off enough light to see by when augmented by the torch that Strippin carried with him. There was a craggy pile of rocks at the end of the hall, and the smell of death.

"We, ah, we did our best to . . . bury him," Strippin mentioned.

Rythian barely heard him. He drifted forward as though in a dream, his vision fuzzy, ears ringing, and dropped heavily to his knees next to the mound of rocks. He began pulling them away, one by one, until the corpse underneath was partially exposed.

His breath died in his lungs. His heart stopped. Tears were spilling over the lids of his eyes and trailing unnoticed down his cheeks.

It was Tee, and he was dead.

Rythian crumpled into himself, digging his fingernails into his chest as if he could rip it open and spill his guilt all across the floor. He could only breathe in sobs and whispered apologies, apologies that meant  _ nothing _ because Tee was dead, Tee was  _ dead on the floor _ and Rythian should have  _ been _ there, should have  _ helped _ him, should have done  _ something, _ he could at least have died with him so he wouldn't have been alone, down here in the dark—

"Did you . . . f-find . . . anyone else?" he choked out, filled with dread at the thought. He should have  _ been there. . . . _

"No," Strippin answered. "We looked everywhere. Not another soul."

The flicker of relief that leapt in his heart only served to bring the guilt crashing down that much harder. The buzzing was starting in his bones again, the horrible  _ inhuman _ crawling of his flesh and the violet cracking of his skin, and he just wanted to blink out of reality and  _ never come back, _ just wanted to vanish for good and never have to think or feel ever again, because this was  _ his fault _ and Tee was  _ dead. . . . _

"Rythian, mate, listen, I'm—" Strippin began, but Rythian dropped into the Void before he could finish the sentence. When he fell out the other side of the crushing darkness, he plummeted ten feet onto stone and lay there, sobbing helplessly, until Strippin and Benji found him and carried him back home.

* * *

 

It was, Sjin considered, a  _ good _ Last Sunset, the sort that would be remembered—vibrant, lovely, with just a dash of melancholy in the shadows of the clouds. He sat heavily on the edge of the roof and leaned back, sighing.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," he commented.

Rythian's head snapped upward in surprise, and Sjin could see him looking over at him in his peripheral vision.

"Wouldn't what?" Rythian asked, his voice low and hoarse.

"Oh, I just  _ wouldn't," _ Sjin replied, waving a hand. "Something I've learned about sunsets recently is that there's never  _ really _ a proper Last One. I've watched a lot of Last Sunsets, and I don't think I was ever particularly satisfied."

Rythian stared at him for a long moment, while the sky's hues shifted and the light dimmed.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually. "I didn't know."

Sjin shrugged. "Most people didn't. I think they assumed that just because we talked about it in public, it meant we were joking. We really weren't joking. Most of the time, anyway." He glanced at Rythian and flashed a smile. "It was an awfully good story, though."

Rythian's eyes narrowed. "Story?" he asked slowly.

"Yes," Sjin sighed. "Just all a big—story. A role-play. A long and involved role-play. And I liked it—really I did—loved it, honestly. Had some good characters. But, in the end? It was all . . . imaginary." His voice dropped to a low murmur. "And it doesn't hurt quite so much to miss something you never really had, now does it."

After another brief silence, Rythian stated, "I guess it doesn't."

"It  _ was _ a good story, though," Sjin commented. "Yours, I mean. And I appreciate that it's hard to let go of. Mine was—is, really. But! That was all fiction, and this is the real world, and there's work to be done." He paused, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "And besides, there's never really a  _ proper _ Last Sunset. It does have a nasty habit of rising again, does the sun."

"That, it does," Rythian replied.

There was a long silence. The bright disk of the sun slipped below the horizon, and stars began to twinkle out between the grey-orange clouds.

"Were you planning on going inside any time soon?" Rythian inquired at last.

"Not until you do," Sjin responded flippantly.

"That's . . . really not necessary."

"It is for me." He glanced at Rythian. "This is real life, after all. Can't afford to be careless."

Rythian huffed out a breath through his nose. "Right. I hope you don't mind sitting up here in silence for . . . a while."

"Not at all."

Silence drifted down over them, gentle as the darkness, and if either one was crying, they both had the grace not to mention it.

 


	14. Wild Blue Yonder

By the time Nano woke up, mid-morning, Lalna had finally come back. He was lying face-down in his bed, shirtless, snoring up a storm.

"Oy," she snapped, getting to her feet and kicking his bed, "up with you."

With a snort, Lalna jerked awake. He sat up slowly, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and looked blearily over at Nano.

"Oh," he said vaguely, "allo."

"Would you care to explain to me where exactly you were last night?"

He glanced off to the side. "Um," he hazarded, "no?"

She folded her arms and glared at him, tapping her foot. He fidgeted.

"Look, it's not, really, important, all right? I was—working."

"Uh-huh. You were with Rythian."

"N-no, no I wasn't!" Lalna objected, flushing from hips to hairline. "Why would I have been?"

"I don't know, because you're permanently affixed to his side? I really don't appreciate being _lied_ to, Lalna."

"Look, I—why do you care, anyway?" he demanded, somewhat petulantly.

Nano glared at him for a moment, grinding her teeth, then sighed and sat down heavily on her bed.

"Because . . . I'm starting to wonder if my apprenticeship is over," she stated softly. "I'm starting to think, now that you've got Rythian, maybe you don't need me around anymore. Maybe you don't _want_ me around anymore."

"What? Why would you think that?"

"Because I've barely _seen_ you in two weeks! Or when I have, you're with Rythian, and I have to pry you off him to get a moment alone with you. And, like, that's _fine,_ just . . . I'd like to know where I stand, exactly."

Lalna was frowning, chewing the inside of his cheek. "Well, like, what do you mean, though?"

She rolled her eyes. "I mean, are you my boyfriend or not?"

He jerked back. "What? Since when—I mean, we're not—we were never—were we?"

 _"I_ don't know, Lalna, why don't you tell _me?"_

"Uhh, look, I'm not sure this is the, um, right time for this—"

"Then when _is_ the right time?"

"Look, just, not right now, okay?" He glanced at the door.

"What, am I holding you back from your _new_ fuck-buddy? Was I not _good enough_ for you?" She was going to start crying, and she hated it, hated how tangled anger and hurt had become in her. "Or was I just a—a stand-in for him all along?"

Lalna's mouth had dropped open. "Wha—? What are you _talking_ about? He and I—no, Nano, it's not like that, it's really, _really_ not like that."

"Then what _is_ it like, Lalna? Because I'm at a bit of a fucking loss!"

"Nano, listen, okay, it's just—" He paused, sighed, and rubbed his face with both hands. "I'm . . . I'm scared, all right? You don't know what Rythian's like when he's alone. You've never seen him when he . . . goes dark. And it's really, really bad, and I don't want—I don't want to lose him. Not again."

"You're not making any sense," she pointed out. A couple of tears slipped down her cheeks and she hurriedly wiped them away.

"Yeah, sorry, I know, it's early and I didn't sleep much." He sighed again. "All right, look, it's like this. Rythian _can't_ be alone. He can't. He goes, like, completely nuts. Last time he was alone for more than, like, a couple of weeks, he built himself a suit of armor that could kill a dragon and an arsenal that could destroy half the damn world. And I don't mean _blow up_ half the world, I mean _destroy._ Unmake. And he was using it on his own castle, and I don't want to _think_ what would've happened if Zoey hadn't come back when she did."

"Wasn't that when you put a nuke under his base?"

Lalna fidgeted. "Yeah, but he didn't know about that until later. He was on his whole, _you blew up the old world and you have to pay for it_ thing. Which, let me tell you, was a departure from how it used to be."

"And how _did_ it used to be?" she asked pointedly.

"I . . . that's not really important. It was like, four years ago, anyway. And you said you didn't want to hear about me and Rythian. Multiple times."

"Fine. I'll take a hint." She crossed her legs and tossed her hair back out of her face. "So is that why you've stapled yourself to him? So he doesn't start unmaking things?"

Lalna shrugged. "Yeah, I s'pose."

"Mm- _hm._ And you _are_ aware, aren't you, that there are seven other people here who would happily keep him company if you weren't constantly hovering over him?"

"Yeah," he admitted, somewhat reluctantly, "And, I mean, you know. . . ." He paused, and looked away, and his expression softened. "I missed him. I missed just being, like, _friends_ with him. Especially since, y'know, Xephos and Honeydew are . . . yeah."

Nano nodded, picking absently at the Flux staining her arms. "Yeah, all right. But it's just that lately you've been _obsessed_ with him. And usually I don't mind your obsession things, but, I mean, he's a _person,_ and it's getting weird."

 _And I thought you loved me,_ she thought, swallowing down the lump in her throat, _and I didn't think this would be a fight._

"I guess. It's just that nobody else really _gets_ him, right? And I'm worried. Last thing I want is him doing something really stupid and getting himself killed again."

She sighed. "Understandable. But I'm sure he'll be all right again as soon as Zoey gets back."

Lalna's face went dark for a flicker of a moment, and he looked away.

"Yeah, about that."

Nano's heart plummeted. "What? Is she—oh God, did something happen to her?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. It's just, I don't think she's coming back."

"Why not? What happened?"

Lalna began picking at his fingernails, his eyes lowered. "I sort of . . . told her. About everything he did to get her back, after she died. And she said . . . she said she couldn't face him again. Not knowing what he'd done because of her. So she just sort of took off, and she took Tee with her, and I really don't think they're coming back."

Eyes narrowed, Nano inquired, "And why didn't you tell anyone this?"

He shook his head. "You don't know what he did. I _can't_ tell anyone. Even he doesn't know I know, and if I'm lucky it'll stay that way."

"Lalna," Nano warned, her heart pounding, "tell me what he did."

He looked up at her sharply, eyes wide. "I can't," he insisted. "It's bad enough I told Zoey, I _can't_ tell you."

"You _will,"_ she retorted, "or I will ask him myself."

Lalna swallowed. He was sweating visibly.

"All right," he conceded, "all right, but you cannot tell a _soul._ You can't even _hint_ that you might know anything about it. All right?"

She considered him for a long moment, then nodded. "I understand."

Leaning forward, he began to speak in a murmur so low she could barely hear it. His gaze was intense upon her, unwavering, and his tone was insistent.

"Right. First thing: blood magic didn't _exist_ until Rythian started fiddling about with ways to bring back Zoey. He invented the stuff. Practically tore the world apart getting it to work—it's why stuff like flight-rings and all that doesn't work too well anymore. I don't know how he did it, and I don't want to know, but the point is, he did.

"But the thing about blood magic is, it takes a _lot_ of blood to get the sort of power you need to put someone's life and soul back into them. Like, a _lot._ Like, to get Rythian back, we had to kill basically every animal in a ten-mile radius. It takes a _lot_ of blood. And because Rythian didn't really know what he was doing, with the runes and everything, it took even more, 'cause he had to experiment."

Nano shivered. She recalled what the altar room had looked like prior to Rythian's ressurrection. She could only imagine how many had died for the sake of one life.

"See, and that would be bad enough on its own. But that _isn't_ on its own. 'Cause Rythian started running out of animals and all, and he was in a fuckin' _hurry_ to get Zoey back, and when he starts getting intense on things, right, the whole rest of the _world_ becomes a toolbox and his morals go away. So . . . so he started taking people from nearby towns."

"Oh, God," she breathed. Horror was seeping pitch-black through her insides.

"That's not even the worst bit," Lalna assured her. His eyes were fever-bright. "Rythian knows a lot about revenge. It's sort of his thing. And see, the thing is, the people in the villages _knew_ he was doing it, and he knew they knew. And they _hated_ him—I mean, of course they did, because who wouldn't? And something as big as a ressurrection was gonna take a lot out of him, and he wasn't planning on taking chances, in case a mob came up with like, pitchforks and torches. Especially not if Zoey was in the line of fire.

"So he . . . God, it's awful . . . he killed _everyone._ Every last man, woman, and child. _Everyone._ It was a massacre. So there was no one to come back for revenge. He . . . he even killed, like, _babies._ And if he knew that I knew about it? I promise you I'd be dead within a day. Like, permanently. And so would anyone who knew."

Nano stared at him, aghast. She felt like she was going to be sick.

"God," she whispered.

"Yeah," Lalna answered. "All that, all those people dead, for Zoey." He shook his head, leaning back. "I don't think she's comin' back."

"That's . . . horrible," Nano breathed. "I—I can't . . . I can't even _imagine. . . ."_

"Yeah."

"But why—I mean, why haven't you . . . why hasn't anyone _done_ anything about it? About _him?"_

"Christ, Nano, 'cause he'd fuckin' _kill_ me, that's why." He paused, brow furrowing. "And because, y'know, I'm not sure he knew what he was doing. He was a bit mad."

"I'd say more than _a bit!"_

"Yeah, probably. So that's . . . I mean, that's what happens, when he's left alone for too long. When he loses people. And, God, I _can't_ watch him do that again. I can't watch him _be_ that again. You—you understand, right?"

She nodded, solemnly, her head spinning and her gut filled with acrid dread.

"Yeah," she said softly, "I understand."

He leaned forward and held out his hands, palms-up. After only a moment's hesitation, she took them. Lalna's fingers curled around hers, warm and strong but carefully gentle.

"Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me."

She squeezed his hands and avoided meeting his eyes, because she could not find the words to reply.

* * *

 

They stood, all twelve of them, divided unevenly in the town square. Lomadia, Nilesy, and Ravs were grouped together on the side nearest the base, while all the others were arrayed variously to the northeast, bustling with packs and weapons. The Hats were squabbling over who got to take The Good Sword, which was the only sharp weapon they had amongst the three of them. Rythian and Sjin were seated on their packs, conversing quietly, while Lalna stood nearby, fiddling idly with something electronic. Strippin and Benji were deciding what to remove from their packs so they would be able to actually carry them more than five feet. Nano was standing apart, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her attention divided equally between every member of the group.

Lomadia approached her and waved to get her attention.

"Almost ready?" she asked.

Nano sighed. "As I'll ever be. As soon as the rail brothers over there have got their stuff sorted out, I think we'll be heading off." She glanced over at Lomadia. "Think you three are going to be all right here on your own?"

"Yeah, probably. If anything comes up, we've got the force-field. Not a permanent solution, but it should last long enough for us to work out something better."

To their left, Trottimus and Alsmiffy had begun slapping at each other, their bickering quickly increasing in volume. Ross quietly picked up The Good Sword and slipped it into his pack.

"You sure _you're_ going to be all right?" Lomadia asked, her mouth curling in a smirk. "I hate to leave you alone with all these idiots, even for a few weeks."

"I'll be fine," Nano assured her, then added, "probably. I don't expect we'll stay particularly cooperative for very long, once we get settled."

"When do we ever? It's a miracle we've lasted this long without anyone killing anybody over something stupid."

"That's true enough. I expect Sjin's One Big Settlement plan is going to fall apart pretty quick."

"Oh, almost certainly. Think you'll be able to hold it together until I get there? Should only be a couple of weeks."

Nano looked at her, studying her face. "You're sure you even _want_ to come?" she asked. "I mean, you're sure you want to leave those two—" she gestured to Nilesy and Ravs— "alone with a town to themselves?"

"They'll be all right. And if not, like I said, force-field." Her eyes lingered on Nilesy for a moment, and she sighed. "Besides, eventually we'll come back for the master-clones, once we've got a way to transport them safely, so they shouldn't be on their own for _too_ long."

Nano snorted. "How long d'you figure until they turn the whole place into a pool?"

"Couple of weeks," Lomadia replied. "A couple more after that, and the pool'll be filled with beer. Or whatever it is Ravs makes."

"Oh, God, that's a horrifying thought."

"Isn't it?"

Out in the crowd, Strippin and Benji were shouldering their packs, regretfully eyeing the small pile of wooden planks, rope, coal, and creosote oil they'd left on the ground.

"Well," Nano sighed, "looks like we're heading out, then."

Lomadia nodded. "Oy, Nano, listen," she began, lowering her voice. "If you happen to hear anything from Zoey, d'you think you could let us know? It's not likely, I know, but if you do."

Something like pain flickered across Nano's features. "Of course. You'll . . . do the same, I hope?"

"You'll be the first to know." She looked out at the assembled company; at Trott and Smiffy flinging accusations at a cackling Ross; at Strippin and Benji with their heavy heads and shifty eyes; at the forced joviality between Sjin and Rythian; at Lalna, observing them all with a look of careful calculation on his face.

At Nano, whose eyes were bright with tears, and whose hands were clenched white-knuckled on her own elbows.

"Take care, Nano," Lomadia said softly, putting a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "I'll catch up soon."

Nano nodded, swallowing heavily. "You, too," she replied, her voice choked.

"All right, everyone!" Sjin called, stepping up on top of a half-buried caber. "Let's get a move on!"

"I'll get a move on _you,_ if you know what I mean!" Smiffy yelled up at him.

"Ooh, he's randy!" Trott exclaimed, while Ross made innuendo-shaped noises.

"Oy, enough of that," Sjin admonished. "We've got a long way to go and a lot to do."

"Don't flatter yourself, mate!" Smiffy interjected.

"If you don't shut the fuck up, I'm going to come over there and wring your fuckin' neck," Strippin snapped.

"Yeah? You wanna come over here and try it, mate?" Smiffy countered.

"Oh, God," Nano muttered, shaking her head. She stepped forward and cupped her hands by her mouth. _"Oy!_ Everyone shut up! Good _God,_ we're never going to get _anything_ done like this."

"Thank you, Nano," Sjin commented, nodding to her. "Right, okay, everyone! Stick together, watch each other's backs, and _don't_ kill anyone."

"Why're you looking at me?" Lalna demanded, pouting.

Sjin folded his arms. Lalna sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, all right," he grumbled.

"If anyone gets lost, we've all got our coms, right?" Sjin asked to the crowd at large. There was a general murmur of agreement. "Good! And if you end up out of com-range, we're heading northeast, so try to catch up. Everyone got it?"

Another murmur of agreement.

"All right! Let's get moving. Follow me—to Cornerstone!"

"That is the _shittest_ name I have _ever_ heard," Smiffy commented.

"That's it!" Strippin cried. "First fuckin' cliff I see, you're goin' off it!"

"Don't threaten me with a good time, mate," Alsmiffy retorted, as the group began to move off.

"I'll see you soon," Lomadia said to Nano, quietly.

"Yeah," Nano replied. "Take care, Lom."

"You too."

The two women embraced, and Nano squeezed so hard that Lomadia could scarcely breathe.

"Be careful," Nano whispered, and then was gone, jogging to catch up with Lalna, who was calling for her.

Nilesy stepped up to Lomadia's side and pressed two knuckles to her biceps.

"All right, my dear?" he inquired.

Watching the group grow ever more distant to the fading sounds of continuing banter, she shook her head.

"No," she answered quietly. "I'm really not."

"Neither am I," he admitted. "None of us are, really."

She took his hand, and he leaned his head against her shoulder, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft and melancholy.

"None of us ever really are."

 

 

**THE END**

 

 

_The story will continue in **Sundown** _

_Coming Soon_

 


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